


Men who live in shadows

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Assassins & Hitmen, Crimes & Criminals, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Dates, M/M, Married Life, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 105,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Detective Lipton and his partner went to make an arrest on a case they suspected was just your usual fraud, but accidentally hit something much larger and more complicated that leads the Chicago Police back to an old cold case.Only this time around, there are new players in the picture, and the case that was once simply about the money now has blood on it. There's something on the move in the dark of the underworld, and the detectives are determined to catch up to it, no matter how deep the rabbit hole goes.





	1. Case re-opened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written this fic for over a year and finally I have managed to edit it enough to publish. I am so excited to share this tale about crime and mystery with you all and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Obviously there are a lot more characters involved that the ones listed, but those listed are the central ones. I will update the tags on this story as I publish more. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors' portrayals in it. This has nothign to do with any real person represented in the series, this is not for profit, and means no disrespect.

It was a morning like any other when Lipton made his way to the police station, morning coffee in a travel mug and scrolling news on his phone, nothing indicating it being the first time in a month since the incident. He checked in by the front desk and took an elevator to his floor, all very ordinary aside from all the people spotting him and coming to welcome him back to the fold along with the usual good-morning greetings. 

The White-Collar Department kept office quite high in the building conveniently close the archives they tended to need often, and so with the elevator full it was a slow rise with stops at almost every floor. Lipton wasn’t in a hurry though, not that or any morning, considering that working white-collar crime a detective was able to keep regular 9-to-5 hours. Money never sleeps they say, but the evidence of its illegal or suspicious movements sure weren't going anywhere either. 

All in all, Lipton had a rather nice arrangement with his job and he liked it. It was important, meaningful work, and at the same time he could believe that his minor degree in business was useful and the crushing student debt wasn't that big of a deal. 

When Lipton arrived at his floor, the first person he ran into was Buck who was loitering by the elevator, waiting for him while pretending he was not. He was all warm welcoming smile when he extended his hand to shake Lipton’s, who put his phone away to take it.

“Welcome back, buddy,” Buck said as he gave his hand a hearty shake. “Everyone's missed you.”

“Thanks, Buck. It’s good to be back,” Lipton said as he squeezed Buck's hand back. The handshake and the coffee mug in his hand kept him from picking at the newly formed scar on his face, itching now that he noticed Buck's eyes briefly flicking to it. 

“You came back at just the right time too, it pushed me to finally clean my desk. Things were getting out of control,” Buck said with a grin as they started to make their way to their desks, side by side.

Lipton chuckled. “I can believe that. I was hoping there wouldn’t be a roach infestation or an ants’ nest in any of my drawers waiting.”

“Oh, we were well past that. Had you taken longer we would have been talking mice, maybe even rats.” 

Coworkers kept spotting Lipton as he walked towards his desk, and every time he met someone's eyes their face lit up and they welcomed him back. Greetings were passed, a few even got up to shake his hand just like Buck had done, and Lipton accepted it all with a smile. It was good to be back to work instead of cooped up at home, worrying and getting more and more bored by each passing day. He had missed this. 

His and Buck's desks were positioned together and indeed clean, just like when Lipton had left. Routinely Lipton set his bag down on the floor, put his coffee on the table, threw his coat over the back of his chair and sat down as Buck did the same opposite of him. 

“So. How have you been?” Buck asked after a beat of silence.

Lipton took the lid off of his coffee, eyes glued to it. “I'm doing fine. I'm a bit rattled, but that's to be expected.” He paused, gently turning his coffee mug and watched the liquid swirl. “Resting did me good, but eventually too much free time is too much free time. I got more time to go to my group and I cleaned my apartment, but it feels good to be back, and I think I need to just get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed, then after a little pause added: “Gordon is going to be fine, you know?”

Lipton took a sip of his coffee without meeting Buck's eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been talking with him over the phone. It's looking good.” He wished that Buck hadn’t said anything, even though rationally he knew that they had to at least acknowledge it in order to move past it. Thankfully that was the only comment it took, and after a moment of evaluating silence Buck gave a firm nod and leaned back in this chair.

“Well, it’s a good timing for you to come back. We’ve got a new case, thanks to the previous one,” Buck said.

Lipton kept sipping his coffee and raised his brows at Buck. Of course they had a new case, there was always something, but the way Buck informed him implied that there was something special to it.

Buck took his que and continued: “The very nervous accountant you and Smokey went to pick up talked. Turns out that not only did he have some questionable finances on him, he has also handled some really fun money traffic via his company.”

“Bribes? Fraud? Illegal purchases?” Lipton threw guesses. 

Buck’s smile was almost a grin. “Even better. Money-laundering. We’re opening the Nixon case again, my friend.” 

That was surprising. Lipton set his coffee on his desk. “We are? For real? I thought that was a dead end.” 

He didn’t quite know what to think of it. Everyone in the department knew that the investigation on Nixon Funding LLC had been going on for decades with nothing ever coming of it. If any charges were ever even brought up, they were quickly dropped or just disappeared. The Nixon case was where careers went to die. 

“We are indeed, and I have a feeling that this time it’s going to be different. We haven’t had a talker before after all, have we?” Buck said, sounding confident. “Captain Strayer wants to brief us at 10:00 in the conference room, so be prepared.” 

Lipton frowned. “What’s there to prepare for? We’re just going to haul boxes full of paper and bank statements from the evidence vault, and that’s nothing new.” He paused to think. “Is this going to be just the two of us?” He had heard from senior staff who had worked in the department for a long time that once in the 1980’s the whole department had been on the Nixon case for months, but the investigation never bore any fruit; no charges, no fines, not even arrests. 

Buck considered the question. “I’m not sure, actually. I assumed we would be since that’s what we’ve done before, but who knows. I guess we’ll find out in the briefing.” 

“I suppose we will,” Lipton said, went back to his coffee and started to theorize. If the suspect he and Gordon had managed to bring in alive had indeed talked, and whatever he had said led them to Nixon Funding, then sure, it was logical to let them continue on the case as they had managed to revive it. But some part of Lipton wondered if this was just a soft landing back into work planned for him without any expectations of real results. 

After all, it wasn’t every day that detectives working with white-collar crime cases ended up in fire fights or saw their colleagues get shot, and something like that would warrant time off for anyone, even those who had been expecting something like that. Lipton had taken a month off to rest and recover without an argument, but now that he was back, he really didn’t feel like wasting time assigned on an old dead-end case that never went anywhere. 

On some level they both were expecting that, so Lipton as well as Buck were surprised when they walked in the briefing room and found that they were not alone. Captain Strayer was there with two other detectives, Guarnere and Toye, partners from Homicide. 

“Morning, detectives,” Strayer greeted them from the head of the conference table and gestured Lipton and Buck to take seats. 

“Morning, sir. I see we have visitors,” Buck said, eying the two others with an expression of positive but reserved surprise, as was often the case when your friends from Homicide came for a professional visit. 

“Nice to see you too,” Guarnere said, then turned to Lipton. “Welcome back aboard, Lip. Ready for a fresh case?” 

“More than ready. Sitting at home is not exactly fun,” Lipton answered. 

“I'm sure it ain't,” Toye agreed. “Welcome back. Glad to see ya.” 

Lipton smiled at them both, but quietly in the back of his mind wished that they would have exchanged these greetings under different circumstances. If the Homicide Department was involved, the situation must really be a serious one, and Lipton felt a tingle of guilt about his previous doubts. 

Captain Strayer let them have their little moment before abruptly starting the briefing, straight to business as always. “Detectives,” he said, addressing Lipton and Buck, “our department has been approached by the Captain from Homicide and we have been asked to reopen the Nixon case. We really struck a nerve with our search a month ago, and several people involved have turned up dead, including our accountant who talked. We have three bodies, he and two others working for the same company. All three worked on different levels and, as far as we know, didn't know each other, and only our guy was dirty in a way that we can prove.”

As he spoke Strayer slid files across the table to each detective. Lipton flipped his open as soon as he picked it up and found the basic personal information of all three dead accountants. He browsed the file as he listened, paying attention to the photos of each one, two men and one woman. The files contained only personal information, and Lipton was silently grateful for not getting jumped by murder scene photos the first thing in the morning. 

Captain Strayer carried on: “All three have been confirmed homicides and are being investigated as murders. Detective Toye will share further details with you soon, but this is not all. Having three accountants of the same company murdered while one is being investigated for falsifying financial information would alone be enough to bring this to our department, but what makes this a special interest are the connections. Detective Guarnere?” 

“Yeah, uh,” Guarnere cleared his throat and took the floor. “Our cyber unit was tracking some drug money with digital tags on virtual funds, and it looks like we had some luck there. Some of it clearly made contact with local organized crime syndicates, and then ended up in a transaction of ninety-thousand dollars two months ago, which is huge and definitely above usual drug trade. So there’s someone who got paid that much in dirty money very recently, and then three people turn up dead.”

Toye cut in: “Didn’t just turn up dead either, but turned up dead in what definitely look like professional hits. And ninety-thousand would definitely be enough to cover three paid murder.”

Buck frowned with worry. Violence was already an escalation, but professional violence was that much worse. “We have a hitman involved then?”

“But we’re tracking the money, right?” Lipton asked, though already guessing something had gone wrong there. 

Guarnere made a face and sucked his teeth in annoyance. “Yeah, we were, until the money ended up as poker chips at a casino and the track went cold.” 

Toye continued: “Only there are only a few casinos that allow the purchase of chips with payment transfer instead of cash, card or check, and this brings us back to your guy.” 

Lipton didn't need to hear the name of the casino to know what it was and he clicked his tongue. “We already know Nixon's casinos utilize loopholes and allow money-laundering to happen there. But it's their policies, and our problem is that it's legal. Technically the owners of the casino are not committing a crime by sitting back and watching it happen. So what's our angle?” 

Captain Strayer answered: “Our angle here are murders, Detective. We have three dead accountants who were working for Nixons, and a hitman washing his blood money at their casino. Our current theory is that there is something going on behind the scenes, and whatever it is it's going to be our way in this thing. Nixons have kept their hands technically clean for decades, but one just isn't the laundry service for pretty much any criminal organization that comes on knocking and stay that way. They may be all morally superior about the money, but murder is not so easily swept under the rug.” 

A moment of contemplative silence followed. It was a plausible theory, and something to definitely consider. Homicide wanted to catch their killer, and the White-Collar could finally have a serious angle to wipe off a speck of shame on their record and finally solve the case.

Buck made an interested sound. “This looks promising. It's definitely worth a shot, and I got to say that I'm more than willing to pin a series of murders on Nixon. Finally. Do you think it would be possible that they are purging their own workers now, with the accountant talking and all?”

Captain Strayer, who knew the case through and through, gave half a shrug. “Nothing is impossible, though that hasn't ever been the style of Nixon Funding. If anything, they are infuriatingly clean with their operations.”

Lipton didn't quite agree with that. “We have to count in the new management. The first incidents of the case concern the father of the current owner Stanhope Nixon, and it’s mostly strictly economics, shady deals and fraud. The biggest chunk of the investigation has been conducted on Stanhope Nixon after money-laundering specifically became a criminal offense, but the youngest of the lot has shown his face considerably more in the past seven years. We know the least about Lewis Nixon, and we can't be sure who's actually pulling the strings behind the scenes at this point. We might even be looking at an internal power struggle.” 

Now it was Buck's turn to eye him with disbelief. “Lewis Nixon might be a greedy, drunken bastard of a socialite who pays no mind to where the family fortune comes from, but if anyone in that family is hiring hitmen, it's going to be ol' Stanhope. Nixon Junior is all smirks and daddy issues.” 

Toye wasn't so quick to brush the theory aside. “I wouldn't be so sure. You said the son has become more visible during last seven years? That might be him growing more powerful. Perhaps he's setting his own rules and defying his father, ready to take over the family business. Besides, people's morals only come to question when they kill with their own hands. Mostly people do it for money or love, and especially love gone sour, but when we're talking something as rationalized as hiring hitmen for your business, all bets are off.” 

Another moment of silent contemplation followed, heavier this time. Captain Strayer let his gaze circle from detective to detective, and finally he declared: “There's certainly a case here. You four will work on this together as you see fit. I'll clear you for all the case files and evidence of the Nixon case, and if you think it'll help, talk to the guys at IT as well. If there aren't any questions, you are dismissed. Get to work.” 

They gathered the few papers they had been given and walked out of the conference room, grouping instead around the isle of Buck’s and Lipton’s desks and started to come up with a plan of action. 

“So as I understood it, we have two halves of a case, both hopefully leading to the same goal,” Buck started to sum up. “We have our old friend, the East Coast’s organized crime’s favorite laundry service that we just can’t seem to nail, and you have… Bodies and a hitman on your radar?” 

“Yep,” Toye said. “Pretty much.” 

Guarnere spoke next, calm but definitely assertive: “Look, we know that you guys really want this Nixon fella, and we’re definitely aboard with that, especially if he turns out to be the employer. But what we really want is the fella who pulls the trigger.” 

Lipton understood the sentiment from the homicide detectives. There was a certain type of professional pride that came with focusing on specific type of crime, but violent crime was always more emotional than anything to do with property, even though the two were linked more often than not. “The hitman is your definite top priority?” he gathered. 

“Damn right,” Toye replied.

“This one’s a real pro. We’ll go over what we have so far with you soon, but we’re certain it’s the same killer, and a real master hitman too. If we don’t nail him before he skips town or leaves the country, that fella will be in the wind forever, that’s how they work,” Guarnere added.

Toye nodded as his partner spoke. “Yeah, basically, hitmen are either fumbling idiots who think the job is simple and get caught easily, or they are probably professionally trained masters who kill without a trace, and we almost never find them.” 

“Okay, so, catch the murder vending-machine, got it” Buck summed up for them, “and we’ll try to pin anything on Nixon. Whatever we can find, we try to nail him for it.”

“And let’s not dwell in the past, okay?” Lipton said. “Just because we haven’t had luck with this in the past doesn’t mean we won’t now. Especially if there really is a power struggle of some sort going on, that’s just the kind of instability where mistakes are made.”

They gathered intellect and negotiated the course of action for a little while longer, and then parted ways to bring in the material they already had. By noon they met up again and shared. 

The murders were indeed eerily similar, that much was evident when Toye took them through the crime scene photos. All three accountants had been murdered in their homes when they were alone with an edged weapon. All had had their throats cut, all apartments were clear of prints of any kind, and no one’s neighbors had heard or seen anything despite the fact that apparently in two of the cases the killer had used the front door. Toye pointed out from the fresh autopsy reports how the victims’ throats had been cut with one clean, deep slash done by an experiences hand without any hesitation. There were barely any signs of struggle, so it had all been over quickly and silently. 

After Toye's presentation Lipton and Buck were both siding with their theory that the killer was the same person who most likely did it professionally. But the killer was also practically a ghost, a faceless, formless theory of a person whom they hoped to catch, unlike who Lipton and Buck along with several generations of Chicago Police Department's White-Collar Department were after. 

Buck had checked out eight large cardboard boxes of case material concerning the Nixon case, and that wasn't even scratching the surface, simply the currently most relevant material. He was taking out file after file overflowing with bank account data, credit card information, finance reports, tax reports and receipts, then a few filled with personal information and photographs of their targets, and piling it all on their desks. 

“We should probably sort this out somehow,” Buck said as he struggled to keep everything in order. 

“Yep,” Lipton said and was already on the move, went into one of the briefing rooms and came back with a white board on wheels. “This should help us some.” 

They led with the personal information on the people they were investigating and started to stick pictures on the board.

“So, currently we have our old head of the family, Stanhope Nixon – “ Buck said and stuck a magnet on two photos, one mugshot that was over two decades old, and one professional looking photograph of the same man in a black suit and with a head of thinning, grey hair. It looked like a portrait, and one could easily imagine it representing his company in official contexts. “ – and then we have our little Lewis Nixon, our possible rising star.” Buck stuck another photograph to the board, this time a clear copy of a magazine clipping, showing Lewis Nixon at a gala or an event of some sort, dressed in a dark blue suit, smirking to the camera with a companion hanging on his arm. 

The father and the son had some family resemblance, but the way they carried themselves in the pictures couldn't have been more different. Stanhope Nixon was a pinnacle of old money, reserved and dignified with no time for anyone unimportant, whereas Lewis Nixon was all mean brown eyes and smirks with a hint of insolence that probably got to its full rights if you met the man in person. 

Lipton gestured at the pictures. “Here are the current main troublemakers who we have been investigating. Both reside here in Chicago, but Stanhope mainly only officially. He owns several properties around the States and a few in Europe, so actually catching him in person is a nightmare. Lewis on the other hand bough a penthouse apartment here in Chicago odd seven years ago and doesn't really travel anymore.”

Toye perked up at Lipton's choice of words. “Yeah? Did he use to then?” 

Buck snorted. “He sort of ran away from home in his mid-twenties. Nine years ago, was it? He went totally off the radar in Europe and Asia for a year before returning and seemingly settling down. And no, we don't know anything about that time or if it matters any.” 

More pictures went onto the board. 

“Blanche Nixon, Lewis' sister. She definitely knows everything there is to know, but she's not really involved in the business and just lives her life with her husband and kids in California. Doris Nixon, married to Stanhope and mother to both of their children, but also lives in California, apparently separated from her husband,” Buck summarized. 

Up went also pictures of several business owners, bankers, Wall Street traders, investors, production company representatives, casino and club owners, theater producers, art collectors, politicians and advertising specialists. There was something to say about each one, but never too much of anything, and they could already tell that none of them were going to help them with the case.

Buck gestured at the wide circle of people around the Nixon family. “These are a few of their known connections. Our theory is that Nixons' money comes from illegal sources, they give it a spin and then distribute it back to whoever's dirty laundry they are doing. These people –“ he gestured at the circle of their various contacts, “— and others like them come to Nixon Funding for money, they craft up foundations, auctions and investments in anything from club renovations and real estate to theater and movie productions, and the money that comes back is clean.”

“No way to prove anything though,” Lipton added with a sigh. “They have been getting away with this for literally generations, even though we know there's something illegal going on under the surface.” 

“Well it's a high time it caught up with them,” Guarnere said decisively. “Leaving a trail of bodies behind doesn't exactly spell legit business.” 

Toye was seated at the edge of Buck's desk and squinting at the board. “Yeah. And there's something going on behind the scenes, I’m sure of it. Escalation from shady deals to murder doesn’t happen just because.” 

“There's a lot of other things going on too, and more evidence to consider,” Lipton mentioned and lifted one of the overflowing files of receipts and documented money trails, a small smile curling in the corner of his mouth when both homicide detectives glared at the material.

“Yeah... How about you guys do the numbers? You're good with those,” Guarnere said through his teeth. 

Buck and Lipton exchanged an amused look and an eyeroll. 

“Besides, the answer is always in the people involved,” Toye added. He was staring at the board and measuring Lewis Nixon up with his gaze as if he could interrogate the photograph. He nodded towards it. “Should we know who that guy with him is?” 

Lipton and Buck glanced at the photo on the white board and the red-headed man in a simple dark grey suit by Nixon's side, arm hooked in his and instead of the camera looking fondly at Nixon. 

Buck shrugged. “Well, yeah. That's Richard Winters, Lewis Nixon's husband. They married about seven years ago, and we have nothing on Winters, not even a picture of his own. We don't know where he came from or how he ended up with Nixon. He doesn't go out much or get involved in any of Nixon's business either. As far as we know he stays at home.” 

There was a beat of silence. No one had anything to add, and there was very little to say about Winters based on the picture alone. In the photo he was unremarkable save for his bright red hair. His suit was obviously blander than the one Nixon was wearing, and he looked like an outsider among the gala crowd, but there was little left to question about their tightly linked arms and the way Winters was looking at the man by his side.

“Well. Nixon’s hardly the only career criminal who's fetched himself a trophy spouse,” Guarnere dismissed after a moment.

The matter was dropped, and they moved on. A lot of it was old, but with the new additions it started to look like there was something to actually work with after all. Lipton got a promising feeling about the case, and even though he had too much experience to trust the feeling alone, he knew it was worth chasing. 

Buck was sorting through printed pages from something that looked like the information frontpage of a foundation’s website, stapled together with what little financial information was available. “Nixon Funding’s business consists of a dozen or so different trade names, half of which even have an office, and they sell mostly organizing and consultation. Only the main business is the production and funding company. But then there’s also things like this,” Buck said, now waiving the stack of paper in his hand, “this is a foundation for dog sports. Athlete Dogs and Owners of Chicago-foundation, officially a sort of non-profit organization that offers dog training courses and organizes dog sport events. It’s a foundation so we don’t have anything about their finances, but we know that Nixon is heavily involved and that the organization was founded six and a half years ago, so… We have our theories about that.” 

Guarnere frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know about their finances?” 

Lipton shrugged. “That’s the thing about foundations. They don’t have shareholders, so they don’t have to be transparent about their finances. Needless to say, they are a pretty popular way to launder money.”

“But no one cares, because puppies, apparently,” Buck added. 

“Huh,” Toye said. 

It started to look like the investigation would show the worst of both worlds, even though they all were used to dealing with the endless technicalities and bureaucracy that made up the justice system. Lipton chose to think about this joined investigation as eye-opening instead of a dive into a cesspool of humanity, like was very tempting when he even glanced at the brutal crime scene photos Toye and Guarnere had brought with them. He looked away. 

By noon Buck, Toye and Guarnere got a text from the cyber unit where Toye and Guarnere had close friends, and together decided to order in lunch with them, but Lipton excused himself and went to have his lunch alone in the cafeteria in the same building.

Lipton enjoyed his short lunch hour usually alone and no one bothered him about it. It was his habit, his little breather in the middle of a work day to allow himself time to quiet down and think, and after his many years in the force his colleagues generally knew to leave him alone to it. Today Lipton took an elevator to the floor of the cafeteria like usual, but lingered by the elevator doors for a while now that he had a moment to himself.

He took his phone out, and after a moment of hesitation opened the message thread with Gordon.

_Hi Smokey. How are you feeling today?_ he typed.

He didn’t plan to type anything more, but when no response or any indication that the message had been read came, he added: _I came back to work today. Everyone has been very welcoming and surprisingly tactful._

For a moment he debated if he should share the news about his new assignment. He was used to sharing everything with Gordon, but for now Gordon was off duty, probably for a long time too even though Lipton didn’t like to think about it. 

_We have a new case. Turns out you and I got a new lead, and a good one. Can’t tell you much, but Buck and I have a conjoined investigation with Bill and Joe. I have a good feeling about this, we did good work._

He put his phone away, satisfied that he had said what he had wanted to. He had to stop himself from prying into Gordon’s recovery despite his worry, knowing fully well that he would share on his own terms when he was ready, just like he would. 

As he walked into the cafeteria, Lipton wondered if he had a limp. The slash wound in his inner thigh had healed well and didn’t hurt anymore, but still he couldn’t help but wonder if he maybe was subconsciously more careful with it, or if he just didn’t realize that it was now stiffer or clumsier than before. He tried not to think too hard about it, and by the time he got to the food line he forced himself to abandon the subject altogether.

The cafeteria was serving some sort of a beef curry with fluffy white rice, and as the smell of it reached him he was suddenly hungry and looking forward to his lunch. 

He picked up a tray, a plate and utensils and made his way to the salad bar. He piled some lettuce, cucumber and tomato slices on his plate and hoped that somewhere in West-Virginia his mother knew that she had raised a son who looked after his health, then moved onto the hot food and took an ample serving of white rice and then curry. It didn’t look too special, but if Lipton had some culinary appreciations it was for home-cooked food. 

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” asked a level male voice behind Lipton, making him glance around in surprise. His gaze found a serious, dark-haired man whom he knew only by appearances standing behind him in line.

The man didn’t smile despite having initiated conversation, but his eyes were keen and staring into Lipton’s like he wanted to read something deeper than lunch-themed small talk from them. “Beef is not my favorite, but there’s something about simple, home-cooked food that gets me through any day, no matter how hard,” the man continued.

Lipton returned the gaze, a bit surprised by the conversation, but smiled politely. “Me too. I don’t really see the point of ordering in when there’s fresh food for a reasonable price served right here,” he said. 

“I agree,” the not-quite-stranger replied, nudging his tray along the line, “ordering in is such a hassle. I prefer doing things myself, and since there’s food right here, I don’t really see the point. Besides, eating out should be a special occasion anyway, and if I ordered in every day at work, it wouldn’t be. Call it a personal philosophy.” 

Lipton smiled, now with genuine amusement. Who even thought about lunch as an opportunity to establish one’s life philosophy and not just a practical act of getting food when one was hungry? “To be honest, I just like to save time and have a moment to myself in the middle of a busy day,” he said.

“That’s a practical way of thinking, I appreciate that. I’m sure your boss does too,” the man said, something like intrigue in his voice. He had just tomato slices and pickled cucumber on his plate and was now shoveling curry on the empty side, noticeably trying to pick out the meat. 

Lipton hummed a laugh, surprising even himself with it. “I’m not sure that the captain of my department cares where I eat lunch, but sure. Most of my coworkers order in and eat together at their desks, so he might even think that I’m antisocial.” 

Now it was the other man’s turn to chuckle at his comment. “Well, it’s always hard to guess what someone is thinking. But who cares what everyone else thinks? We make our own choices, and no matter how small, it tells something about a person.”

Lipton hummed a laugh again, glancing at the man next to him. He was strangely serious for their light chatter, and somehow Lipton got the feeling that this man wasn’t fond of small talk in the first place, but was still talking to him now. He felt like they were having a very important conversation about something, like this encounter truly meant something instead of being simple pleasantries exchanged in passing and to be forgotten immediately. 

“Yeah? And is this what you’re doing, making independent choices and establishing your path as an individual?” Lipton asked. 

“Of course,” the man said, something like a hint of a smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “That’s who I am, as a person. A man who makes his own choices such as what to eat for lunch. Which incidentally is whatever this cafeteria decides to serve.” 

Lipton was still smiling when he arrived at the end of the line and picked up a serviette. The little conversation between them was coming to an end unless the man decided to join Lipton for lunch, but he got the feeling that since he himself had said that his lunch hour was his alone time the man wouldn’t even ask. Lipton was content with that, but he didn’t simply want to walk away from him after their little chat, even though he also sensed that he wouldn’t fault him for that either.

So Lipton just lingered at the end of the food line with his tray in his hands, feeling like he should say something.

“Um. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall us meeting,” he confessed. “You look familiar, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” 

The man was in the middle of picking serviettes for himself and looked up. He didn’t seem offended at all, and Lipton was relieved that he didn’t seem to think that they should know each other.

“My name is Ron Speirs. I’ve worked as the front desk manager for the past six months,” the man said, nodding instead of extending his hand since Lipton’s were occupied. 

“Ah, yes,” Lipton said, suddenly able to place the man in his work environment. “I remember you now. Welcome aboard, if you still consider yourself a new-comer here, I mean. My name is Lipton. Carwood Lipton. I’m a detective in the White-Collar Department.”

Speirs smiled and picked up his tray. “Nice to meet you, Detective Lipton, even though I already see you every morning when you come to work. Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk more some other time. But for now, I’ll leave you to your quiet time. I appreciate that myself as well.”

And with that, Ronald Speirs walked away from Lipton with a smile and an intent look, leaving him to wonder if the man had a casual gear to him at all. It was a strange encounter, to officially meet someone you already saw every day but without the completion of shaking hands, and then just have them walk away from you. It was unusual, and even though Lipton walked away to find a table of his own too, he wasn’t quite able to put the man out of his mind. 

Gordon or Buck would have elbowed him into his ribs and teased him, but here he was alone with his thoughts. Eventually Lipton filed the meeting away as a pleasant change of pace in the routine, something to maybe come back to in time, but to be set aside for now.

After lunch Lipton went back to his desk, but none of his colleagues were there, only a post-it note on his computer screen that had Buck’s scribble on it telling him to come to the cyber unit's room three. 

Lipton quickly glanced at the white board, concluded that nothing on it had changed and thus didn't prepare him for anything, took his coat and did as he was asked. He was silently grateful to himself for keeping to himself during lunch because he wasn't about to get another moment of quiet for the rest of the day.

The cyber unit at their station was a relatively new thing and as such definitely not a part of the original floor plan. No one doubted their importance, but regardless the lack of space had been an issue and the unit had ended up crammed into a series of former utility closets and maintenance spaces along a remote hallway on the same floor as the Homicide Department. The unit of their station was a rather small one due to the lack of trained professionals and limited space so none of the detectives or officers had their own office, and on top of that the senior staff of the station had resolved to call them the IT. 

Not that it bothered the detectives working in the cyber unit, vice versa actually. Their misunderstood status and undervalued work were the most popular subjects of jokes among them and one got the feeling they were a little proud of that, but Lipton still felt bad for them. Currently mainly for their office space being an old closet, and mostly for himself being the seventh grown man about to squeeze inside.

“Hello, boys,” Lipton greeted, closing the door behind him.

“Hiya, Lip!” Luz greeted cheerfully from his desk, toasting him with a carton of take-out pasta. Next to him Perconte gave him a smile and a wave, and opposite of them Heffron was choking on his lunch after trying to swallow a mouthful too fast in order to greet him, and Guarnere was hitting him on the back.

“How’s it going?” Lipton asked, staying by the door without knowing where he might want to look next. Buck was sitting on a stool between Luz and Perconte while Guarnere and Toye were seated next to Heffron, one on either side.

“We were going through the crime scene photos,” Heffron stammered out while coughing, slowly recovering. “Also, hi Lip. Nice to see you back.”

Lipton nodded his acknowledgments, then suddenly realized what they were doing and frowned: “You're going through those while eating?”

Luz, having worked a variety of different cases and jobs, including a technical analyst, shrugged. “It's everyday business.” 

“Yeah, we deal,” Toye joined in, though clearly having finished eating already. 

Lipton suspected one of the perks of working in a remote hallway was that no one was supervising your lunch hours, so the guys working there were making slower progress with their food. 

“Okay,” he said, shaking the irrelevant thoughts off, “what do we got, then?”

“Blood in the ceiling,” Buck answered, sounding uncharacteristically flat. Lipton glanced quickly at all the others for further details.

Toye shrugged. “I did say our guy is a well-trained professional. You don't become a master if you hesitate with your kills, and a severed artery does spray blood, that's just how it is.”

The thought of spraying blood and especially the clinical phrase 'severed artery' sent an anxious shiver down Lipton's spine. He felt cold sweat begin to brim on the back of his neck, and he took a slow, deep breath to stay calm. With resolution he breathed the feeling out and instead focused on the other thing Toye had said: “Why do you keep calling this guy a master? In my opinion there's nothing to be appreciated here.”

“Oh no, of course not, that's just the term,” Toye replied with an uncomfortable twitch in his face. “It's not like there's much criminology about hitmen available because no one catches them, but we do have a sort of a classification system.”

Guarnere took over: “Novice is what you call a beginner who tries to be a professional but doesn't know their shit, and we can usually nail them with forensic evidence. His buddy is the dilettante, another idiot on their first rodeo without knowing how to ride, but he's in it for the money because he really needs it, but wouldn't kill if he could get it in any other way. Then we have the journeyman, who once started out as a novice but has been able to get some experience, and he is probably already involved with a crime network. We nail him because he kills locally and makes a mistake eventually.”

“And then we have the master,” Toye continued, “the one who doesn't get caught. The theory is that they are either very experienced career criminals or they have some other relevant training, like in a military or an intelligence service, or some less official but still organized setting. And this guy is one.”

“It's not like we admire this guy,” Guarnere said, sounding offended by the mere implication. “But that's the name criminology has assigned to him. And let me say, sometimes in Homicide you see some real sick bastards, and some real evil too. When you have a chance to put someone like that away for a long time, you take it.”

Lipton understood the sentiment very well, as did Buck.

“We get it,” Buck said, “it's the true professionals that infuriate you the most. The ones who clean up too well and get away with it.”

“So, what are we going to do next?” Lipton asked, glancing at the entire group again.

“Well!” Heffron interjected, turning back to his computer, “you could just follow the money, and the people carrying the money. If anything cracks a case, it's the human error.” 

“Wow. That's deep,” Luz said with glee, and Heffron grinned back at him, spinach in his teeth.

They spent the rest of the day in that little closet turned office, all seven of them, researching the backgrounds and recent events concerning their immediate leads. They went through Nixons' latest moves and their shadier investors and suspected criminal clients, though they had cleared their tracks famously well, then checked the production company their murder victims had worked at, pulled the personal information of the victims' families and closest colleagues to interview, and made their plans for the next day. 

When the day came to an end, Lipton was satisfied with the progress they had made and cautiously optimistic about the case. They had several goals and many leads and it was looking good, but he knew from experience that quantity didn't equal quality. Leads could go cold frighteningly fast, and their main perps had managed to wiggle away without being charged several times before.

Yet, the theory about some sort of a disturbance that they didn't know of yet was promising. Something had changed, and ripples like that often meant mistakes, and mistakes were what got criminals caught. Like Heffron had said, it was the human error in the system that was their best bet. 

They had a solid foundation and it was looking good, as did Lipton's new start at work. As he finished his shift he concluded that the day had felt like being eased into it. It was going well, he thought, he may not have left the station all day but that wasn’t too unusual for someone in his department, and he hadn’t magically forgotten all his training and experience while on leave. 

Gordon hadn’t replied to his messages yet when he checked his phone and the urge to try again was pressing, but he refused. He could wait, it just wasn’t the right time. 

He didn't feel anxious in the elevator either even though he was alone when he took it to the lobby, and he was in a good mood when he clocked out. When he passed the front desk he gave the officers working there a more careful look than usual and managed to spot the man he had met – Speirs, he recalled – this time. He didn’t notice Lipton as he walked past, too busy instructing some officer with something, hunched over a computer screen. 

Lipton smiled to himself, zipped up his jacket and started towards the train station. He kept smiling even when it started to drizzle.


	2. Bloody work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments on the first chapter, now here's the second!   
The investigation picks up a few possibly leads.

When Lipton's alarm went off the next morning he was feeling just as well as the day before. The first thing he did was load the coffee maker and leave it brewing before he headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, which was easy, and then went to shave, which was harder now because of the wound on his face. 

Granted, now that the wound had healed properly shaving wasn’t that difficult anymore. It had been downright impossible at first when the wound was still open, and the stitches had itched so much on their own that the growing stubble had felt like an additional punishment. According to the doctor however it had been a good wound, clear and neat and easy to stitch, and as long as the wound was left alone he had promised it would scar well. 

Lipton had no idea what that was supposed to mean, “scar well”, because even though his wound apparently had done so, it was still a bumpy pink cut in his face. He could shave around it no problem, but as soon as the razor came even close to the uneven scar tissue he ran into problems. It was frustrating not being able to carry out such a simple part of his morning routine, and what he needed now the least was more scars on his face. 

After shaving Lipton tapped a layer of lotion on the scar, the kind that was supposed to ease healing and prevent scar tissue, and hoped it was doing its job. Lipton didn't consider himself a particularly vain man, but the scar on his face was something that he didn't seem to be able to simply ignore. He found himself trying to hide it from others, and every time he looked in the mirror in the morning he wished it would at least tone itself down somehow. Be less red, maybe, or smoother.

Despite the frustration he felt silly about it at the same time. So he had gotten some glass to his face, arm and thigh; big deal. They were simple cuts and a flesh wound that had also done very good job at healing. There were worse things, such as being pierced by a bullet and not being able to move your body at all. Lipton forced himself to stop thinking about it for now and went back to the kitchen for breakfast. 

He poured himself a mug of coffee first, then went to stick some bread in the toaster before going through his fridge for something to put on it. There was a certain comfort in his morning routine, and he savored it before getting dressed and heading out.

When he got to the station Buck hadn't arrived yet, but Toye was already waiting for Lipton by his desk, a file in hand and his overcoat still on. 

“Morning, Lip,” Toye said as soon as Lipton approached. “Don't lose your coat. I thought we'd go out on the field today and talk to some possible leads. Family and colleagues of the victims.”

“Yeah? Shouldn't Bill go with you and not me?” Lipton asked.

Toye shrugged. “Usually. But we already agreed that he's gonna keep working the crime scenes, and you're good with people, so I'd rather take you. This is a delicate matter.”

Lipton shrugged, it was all the same for him as long as they kept working, and the plan was good. “Sure thing, Joe. But are there homicides that don’t create delicate situations?” 

Toye threw him a lopsided smile as he stood up from the desk, ready to go. “You've got a point there, but this is a slightly more delicate case than most. I mean, mostly homicides are personal crimes. Usually we have cases where an already violent situation has escalated, we have robberies gone wrong, we have junkies getting into fights. Sometimes there are spouses who’ve had affairs, and sometimes there is a lot of money involved. A series of hits, on the other hand? That’s rare and out of the blue.”

Lipton had to agree. “What are we going to tell them? Any of them?”

Toye put his hands in his coat's pockets and shrugged. “Only what's necessary, nothing more. Nothing about the case we're building, nothing about the organized crime aspect. Let's just focus on getting as much information about the victims as we can and try to see why they were offed.”

“And if they ask for details about the murder?”

“People actually often try to avoid things like that. But with this first one, your accountant's widow, she was the one to find him, so she knows,” Toye explained grimly.

“Jesus. That's cheerful,” Lipton said with a grimace. Lipton had taken a look at the photos of the crime scene, and it had been brutal. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to find your husband like that.

“Yeah, well, good morning to you. I hope you’ve had coffee,” Toye said as they made their way out.

They drove out of downtown and south to the block where Lipton and Gordon's accountant had lived in and found that the widow was already expecting them. She and her late husband had lived in the fourth floor of an ordinary apartment building that’s walls had last seen paint decades ago, and when Lipton and Toye got there, she was lingering in the hallway. She was a small, pale woman wrapped up in casual clothing and a blue cardigan, and she radiated the sort of exhaustion grief brought on people. Still she managed a smile when she invited them in.

“Mrs. Krasinski, morning,” Toye greeted her, offering his hand to be shook. “This is Detective Lipton. We'd like to ask a few questions if you don't mind.”

Mrs. Krasinski shook Toye's hand listlessly and offered Lipton a nod. “Sure,” she agreed automatically. 

The apartment was clearly in the process of being emptied. There were piles of cardboard boxes by the walls and most of the furniture that had presumably been there had been removed, but there was still a couch and a coffee table, and Mrs. Krasinski gestured them to sit down. 

“I see you are moving. Is that going alright?” Lipton asked while pointing towards the boxes and plastic bags. 

Mrs. Krasinski pulled herself a lone dining chair on the opposite side of the coffee table, sitting down. “Yes, everything is fine. I'm moving to my mother's house for a while. I just can't stand to stay in this apartment since... Well.” Her head jerked towards the kitchen, stripped bare and scrubbed clinically clean.

“Anyone can understand that,” Toye said. 

Lipton didn't let his gaze linger in the kitchen for too long. He recognized the space from the crime scene photos even though it had been thoroughly cleaned from floor to ceiling, not one spot of red left anymore, but despite the cleanliness there was something awful about it. He felt a wave of sympathy towards the tired widow; he couldn't imagine staying in a home that had been defiled like that for a single night. 

“We're sorry for your loss, ma'am, but we still need to ask some questions,” Lipton gently started.

“Of course,” Mrs. Krasinski agreed with her gaze on the coffee table. 

There wasn't much to ask the widow. They had already confiscated the late husband's computer and phone and been through all his information as well as the wife's, and everything was pointing towards the wife being completely oblivious to her husband's additional income and its sources. 

“As you know, your husband was under our investigation for some illegal dealings at his accounting job. Do you have any information about his business contacts? Maybe someone who lost money when he was arrested?” Lipton asked for the sake of being thorough.

Mrs. Krasinski’s shoulders jumped in a compulsive shrug. “No. I don't... I didn't know about any of it. I thought it was all a mistake, he said he was going to settle it with his bosses and that we'd move... I don't... I don't know anything.” Her voice was meek and she refused to meet either detective's eyes. 

“Settle it? That didn't come up in our investigation. Quite the contrary, he was going to testify,” Lipton said.

Mrs. Krasinski frowned and started to worry her lower lip with her teeth. “Well there's your motive then, isn't it? He was trying to do the right thing and it got him killed, right?” There was something like anger suddenly flaring in her. “Do you even care?! Didn't he shoot someone of your lot when you were arresting him?”

Toye interrupted: “Mrs. Krasinski, we know all that, and I assure you, nothing matters more to us than getting the killer off the streets.” 

Something in Toye's assurances, maybe just the gesture of calming and some good faith, made the woman deflate as fast as her anger had flared up. She sighed, her gaze dropping back down, and she nodded. 

“I’m telling the truth, detectives. I've just met some of his friends from work, been to a couple of parties and such, but they were just other employees, regular people whom he knew, nothing more,” she said.

“Did he recently mention someone new at work?” Toye asked. “Maybe a new customer, a subcontractor, someone who visited their company on business?”

Mrs. Krasinski thought for a short moment. “No,” she sighed. 

“How about the person he wanted to settle things with? Did he specify, the person or the business?” Lipton continued.

Mrs. Krasinski’s mouth twitched. She looked uncomfortable, but there was a blank look in her eyes, nothing even hinting recognition or something to hide. “He just said ‘my boss’, and it’s a he. Nothing more,” she said. “He said the thing with arrests and the charges were a misunderstanding.” She blinked slowly, her hands sitting still in her lap. She looked too tired to show any sort of emotion, even grief over her husband. “But they weren’t, were they?” she muttered.

“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” Lipton admitted, openly sympathetic. He exchanged a look with Toye, who subtly nodded and then tilted his head towards the door. Lipton gave the woman a kind smile and kept his voice calm when he said: “Alright, I think that’s all. Thank you for your cooperation. We wish you the best of luck.”

They went to stand up and leave, and Mrs. Krasinski saw them to the door. There she hesitated, fidgeted about some, and finally spoke up.

“Um... May I ask...?”

Lipton and Toye both turned to her. “Sure,” Toye urged.

“I... My husband's finances have been frozen. I can't even cash his checks,” she explained in a small voice. “Do you have any idea how long... I mean, will I be able to get that money any time soon? It's just... I don't want to bother my mother and I need to take care of my kids and all.” 

Lipton felt his heart sinking. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but his finances are still under our investigation, and since his death there must be an estate inventory. We're sorry.” 

“Oh,” the woman said blandly. “And what about the car? I know he drives it to work, but it's under my name. When will I be getting that back?”

Lipton and Toye exchanged a look.

“The car, ma'am?” Toye repeated. 

Mrs. Krasinski nodded. “Yes. It's not here. I assumed you had confiscated that too.” 

“We have not,” Lipton slowly said. “When did you last see the vehicle?”

Mrs. Krasinski’s careful probing was slowly being replaced with fright. She was blinking rapidly and licked her lips before replying: “I... A few days ago, I suppose? I don't really keep an eye on it since rarely drive in the city, but it's not here.” 

Toye already had his notebook out. “Would you like to report it missing? Description and registration number, please.”

They left the apartment with that little piece of information and got back to their car. Toye was as unreadable as usual, but Lipton could tell he was thinking furiously. He was too, wondering about the car and whether or not it was a new lead or a meaningless detail. It might have just been stolen. This was Chicago after all, grand theft auto wasn't exactly a rare occasion. 

“What do you think?” Toye asked him as he started the car.

Lipton considered the question. “The widow is probably as innocent as she looks, she seemed so ashamed and overwhelmed. The car might be something though, but also maybe not.”

Toye hummed in agreement. “Yeah. I wouldn't get too excited, at least not before we get to the station and run the license plate and see if we already know about it.” He paused. “Not that I wanna be blunt or cruel or anything, but innocent or not, she sure has enjoyed the extra money. There's no way she didn't know her husband was making extra on the side.”

Lipton sighed. He agreed. “Probably, but that doesn't get us anywhere. This isn't too fancy a neighborhood, and they have three kids. If I have learned anything during my years at this job, it’s that people rarely bother to ask about extra money. They start making a fuss only when something goes missing.” 

Toye clicked his tongue. “Well, I can understand that for sure,” he said a bit bitterly, but the subject was dropped after the comment. Instead, Toye threw an evaluating glance at Lipton. “I was thinking, since it came up – “

“I'm fine,” Lipton interrupted sharply. The scar on his face was itching. 

“ – how's Smokey doing?” Toye finished, ignoring him. 

Lipton glanced at Toye who was calmly following the traffic and regretted his knee-jerk reaction and harsh tone already. “Smokey is going to be okay. The doctor thinks he's going to recover well and the nurses in his ward are very supportive. He can move his arms again.”

“Good. That's good,” Toye muttered. There was something like relief in the atmosphere, and with that all that needed to be said on the matter was finished.

*

Buck and Guarnere were having a grim morning and they were powering through it with coffee, potato chips, chocolate bars and gallows humor. They had gotten a small conference room on the Homicide Department's floor for themselves to set up a board for each of the three murder's crime scene, and now they were trying to build a better picture of not only the events but who they were looking for. 

“This is what you do on daily basis, huh?” Buck asked Guarnere after they had been staring at the pictures for a while. 

“Pretty much, yeah. When you work in Homicide, this is the kind of stuff you gotta get used to,” Guarnere replied. “Not that this is like the everyday intensity of it.”

“Yeah? No slit throats all over Chicago?”

“Nope, no slit throats. Lots of guns though, lots and lots of guns. Here, have a Twix and get it together,” Guarnere replied, offering a bar to Buck, then picking up a small bag of chips himself. 

“So what does a guy who slits throats tell us?” Buck asked, taking a bite of the candy.

Guarnere made a face and ripped the bag open. “It tells us that he's either insane or that someone paid him very well to bring this sort of insanity. No one does it this messily without a good reason.” 

Some sum of money it must have been too, at least judging by the pictures. All three scenes with their photos looked like a puzzle made up of mostly red, the blood had gotten everywhere like sprayed from a hose, and each victim had just been dropped in the middle of it. All three were laying on their fronts, face down in the blood, probably left exactly where they had collapsed. 

“Seriously, what do you think it costs to make someone do that?” Guarnere said, pointing at a picture of Ms. Hill lying on her living-room floor in her own blood. The carpet around her looked like it had been completely soaked and it had turned the dried brown colour of set blood, only on the very edges of the picture you could see the clean beige the carpet had been. The leather coach she was lying by had gotten a generous spray of blood too. 

Buck shook his head, chewing the crispy chocolate and caramel. “I don't really know the rates of murders these days. Five figures, at least?”

“Yeah, probably,” Guarnere agreed. He inspected the picture closely, chip after chip disappearing in his mouth from the small bag. “Definitely a professional, though. Definitely.”

“How come?”

“First of all for carrying out shit like this. And look, there's no handprints anywhere, or any marks on the carpet. She didn't fumble around at all when she went down, was probably dead before she hit the floor,” Guarnere said, pointing at the couch and the table. 

Buck stepped closer too and looked at the two other scenes for similar things. “These too,” he said.

“Damn.”

They took a step back again and stared at the pictures. 

“Wanna bet that the forensics comes up empty?” Guarnere said, sour. 

“Probably, yeah. Our guy probably didn’t become a master killer just to get caught because of fingerprints or a murder weapon that can be connected to him.”

It was frustrating to investigate a crime without forensic evidence, witnesses or suspects. Buck had been on the case for only two days and already he understood why Toye and Guarnere were so keen on getting this guy. 

“Someone paid him to do this. Do you think we'd find him if we found the payer?” Buck asked.

Guarnere didn't look too hopeful. “That would be something. Ordering a hit means being charged with the murder, but I think our guy is a freelancer, that's how he stays at large. His employers probably aren't too close to him.”

Buck made a thoughtful noise. “Looks like there's just no catching the guy. We got to find his employer. We need to find the evidence on Nixon and hope this guy goes down with him.”

They knew that already, and at first glance there was a certain relief or perhaps gladness in the face of an easy job: after all, the guy was right there, cruising through high societies and art circles and Yale alumni clubs, there were pictures of him, they had his home address and phone numbers of his secretary, his office, and his mother. Lewis Nixon was nothing like this ghost of a killer who might as well already be gone with the wind, but Buck had been working in white-collar crime and especially the Chicago department too long to let himself get too cocky. If Toye and Guarnere's hitman was a ghost, Nixon was an urban legend. He was there, ask anyone, but there was nothing to grasp, just smoke and mirrors. 

“Slippery bastard,” Guarnere cursed him. 

“Yep,” Buck easily admitted. It was frustrating to browse through so much paper and information that at first felt overwhelming and more than enough to only come to the conclusion that nothing stuck. 

“Can't you just get a warrant and snoop through his bank accounts or something like that?” Guarnere huffed.

Buck huffed a laugh. If he could get a penny every time someone suggested something like that for any detective in his department, he could move into a better apartment. “It's not that simple. First of all, there are probably dozens of accounts, and that's the conservative estimate. Some are off-shore and thus outside our jurisdiction. Some are not even under his name, but under companies and foundations he either owns or has shares in, so there would be an impossible amount of information to go through.” Not that the department hadn't attempted to do sweeps, they just all came up clean. “And secondly, that's not the order things go. The thing about money-laundering is that it makes illegal money look legal. And often what's in the books is not what really happened.”

“Well, shit,” Guarnere sighed.

“Exactly.” 

“Is there anything new? Anything out of the ordinary or new, something that has changed since the case was last open?” Guarnere asked next. 

Buck considered the question. A number of small things had changed, and possibly some big ones behind the scenes, but one could never really tell with Nixons. The family was officially together, but the second child Blanche lived on the West Coast seemingly without any official connections to the rest of the family, and then there were Stanhope and Doris Nixon who represented together and smiled in pictures but appeared to be separated. 

And Lewis Nixon... There just wasn't anything genuine about him. If Buck was being honest, he couldn't see a son about to overthrow his father in him, but then again he had hard time imagining him doing anything good either. There didn’t seem to be anything evil about him, but nothing simply good either. He could be anything, or nothing.

Buck didn’t say any of that out loud, but settled for the obvious: “Well... Lewis Nixon is married now. His husband is the newest member of the family, and we know nothing about him.”

Guarnere tossed a pack of tax reports that he had been trying to make sense of back on the table, clearly glad to be rid of them. “Let’s find out, then!”

Checking into someone’s records was a job you needed specific skills with, so they picked up their notebooks and what little information they already had and headed down to the cyber unit. 

Their unannounced visit was received with some frustration. Both Luz and Perconte were tied with a liaison assignment on some other cases, so Heffron had to make room in his schedule to help them on his own. Buck and Guarnere pulled out chairs and crowded into the tiny corner behind Heffron's desk and explained their business.

Heffron huffed and got to work. “You do realize we have our own cases and jobs, right?” he said.

“Yes, and right now one of them is helping us,” Guarnere cheerfully supplied with a pat on Heffron's shoulder. 

“Yea, yea,” Heffron said, “what's the guy’s name again?”

Buck had to actually think for a second. “Richard Davis... Nixon?” 

“That's unfortunate,” Heffron chuckled.

“No, no, he didn't take Nixon's name,” Guarnere said, recalling one untraditional detail more in the already untraditional marriage. 

Buck frowned. “Oh, right. Then... Nixon-Winters?”

“No, just Winters. He kept his birth name. Richard Davis Winters,” Guarnere said, checking from his notes and confirming the information. 

Heffron opened a search engine and a few databases and started typing. “Alrighty, and what do we want to know about the guy?”

“We know nearly nothing, so let's start with the basics. Birthplace, family, school, career, stuff like that. Who is he and what has he done before meeting Nixon,” Buck listed quickly, routine stuff. 

Heffron was a very efficient researcher and information was coming up quickly. Richard Winters was originally from Pennsylvania, born and raised, he had a much younger little sister and a mother who still lived in their hometown, but his father had passed away several years ago when Winters had been in his mid-twenties. He had gone to school in Lancaster, graduated high school but not enrolled in college. What surprised them all was his career after high school.

“Army?” Guarnere said in disbelief. “Huh. Wouldn't have pegged him the type.”

“Yeah...” Buck admitted. “Enlisted straight out of high school, honorably discharged after five years of service. Are there more details?”

Heffron shrugged. “Probably, but not here. Military keeps their own records, and not all of it is even digitalized. And even if it were, I don't have that kind of authorization anyway, so you guys gotta have to contact them yourselves.” 

Early that afternoon Lipton and Toye arrived back at the station, and they all met up in the conference room in the Homicide Department.

“We have a car to find,” Toye announced as soon as they walked in. “Krasinski’s car is missing. The widow hasn't seen it for a few days at least and mentioned something about her husband trying to 'settle things' with his boss. I think we might want to know where he went before he was murdered.” 

They listed the license plate and the car's description in their database, reporting it missing and wanted for evidence, and that turned out to be the most exciting thing about Toye and Lipton's excursion. The murders were too clean, as were the shady finances the victims had practiced. No one they had talked to could tell them anything new or useful.

Buck presented their day's work: “We have stuff on Mr. Nixon-Winters, and out of all of it the most interesting part is definitely his military service.”

Lipton and Toye were sitting next to each other, and their expressions mirrored their shared surprise. “Come again?” Toye asked.

Guarnere barked a laugh at their faces. “Yeah, five years in the army apparently. But don't hold your breaths. We made some calls until we finally reached his former commanding officer, one Colonel Sink, who kindly explained the details of Lieutenant Winters' service, which consists of being a mess officer and then a secretary.” 

The mood in the room slumped. Information about military service could have been something interesting, definitely an interesting detail, but the uneventfulness of it took the wind from the sails. 

“Alright,” Lipton said, “so service in the army. And after that?”

“Nothing after,” Buck answered. “There was nothing for several years, his address was listed at his mother’s, and then one day he just appears and after a week is married to Lewis Nixon.” 

That was certainly worth looking into it. They all agreed that they should look further into Winters’ background and find out how exactly he had come into the picture, and the personal angle on the case felt ever stronger.


	3. New introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On with the show! Enemy contact is made, and Lipton finds a reason to talk to someone interesting. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy this story. I'd love to hear what you think.

The first week back at work was full of minor adjustments for Lipton. It wasn’t like a month away had suddenly erased years of training and expertise and no one made any notes to him, but he could tell he was a bit rusty. He felt out of sync, a bit unsteady like the first time on a bike after a long winter. 

After three days of radio silence, Gordon finally messaged him back and Lipton felt a weight of anxiety he hadn’t even realized he had carried being lifted. 

_Hi buddy,_ Gordon wrote in his message, _I’m doing fine. Therapy is working. There’s progress. My hands are still clumsy and typing is hard, so I didn’t reply sooner. Sorry about that. Work good?_

It hadn’t occurred to Lipton that typing would be hard for Gordon, he had just heard that his arms were working and been relieved about that. When they had been taken to the hospital Gordon had been completely paralyzed from neck down, and Lipton hadn’t forgotten all the blood as the stretcher was basically swimming in it, nor had he forgotten the look of horror and despair in Gordon’s eyes when he had just laid there, completely helpless.

Lipton had to actually shake his head to get rid of the image that threatened to get too real. He didn’t want to think about any of it, so he just pushed it out of his mind. 

He typed back: So happy your therapy is working! Keep trying, you can do it. I believe in you. When can I visit? Work is good. I’m paired with Buck and we’re working with together with Bill and Joe for now. Nixon case had new developments and it’s looking good. 

He left it at that, concluding that Gordon would reply on his own time, and this time Lipton reminded himself to give him time. 

At work Lipton had taken the Krasinski case with its leads on himself. It had been his and Gordon’s case to begin with, and after gathering new info with Toye it had again formed into something like his territory in the eyes of the others as well. Lipton took the work gladly even though he had a feeling that the others, but Buck especially, wanted to keep him off the field for now. 

Nixon’s dog sports foundation was hosting an event that day, an agility and obedience competition, and it was the perfect opportunity to get on the grounds to ask around Nixon and Winters’ own social circle. They didn’t know about Nixon, but Winters had a dog in the day’s competition, and he was guaranteed to show. Guarnere, Toye and Buck had all headed out to ask around about Winters and hoping to catch the man himself, and Lipton was left at the station. 

Lipton took a long look at the crime scene photos of Krasinski’s murder now that he had the time. The muck shot of the man himself was also on the same board, right above the gruesome murder scene. At first Lipton had feared he wouldn’t feel anything for the man, after all the last time they met he had pointed a gun at Lipton and his partner, but looking at the bloody pictures Lipton was relieved to realize he pitied the man. He wasn’t glad that he was dead, he didn’t feel anything akin to satisfaction or vengefulness after what Krasinski had done to Gordon, and for that he was grateful. 

Guarnere and Buck had already gathered everything there was to see about the crime scenes, and Lipton had read their notes. The scene was disturbingly clean, and so for the time being it looked like the only thing they had to go forward with was the car. The only lead being a missing vehicle was frustrating since they couldn’t just snap their fingers and force it to appear, but then he had an idea. Suddenly Lipton was glad that he had been left alone at the station and that his team was on the field, and he headed downstairs.

Down in the lobby Lipton hesitated for a small moment. He wasn’t nervous, not with the official business he was there to take care of, but he wasn’t quite sure if he was welcome. He turned the file over in his hands and made sure he had all he needed, then glanced at the front desk to see if there was a convenient opening for him. There was no rush, and soon Lipton spotted Speirs back there, quietly supervising the other desk workers but seemingly not doing anything special himself.

Lipton walked up to the desk and searched for Speirs’ gaze, catching him faster than he had anticipated. There was a pleased sort of surprise on his face, and Lipton had time only to smile and wave before Speirs was already making his way towards him.

“Hello, Detective Lipton,” Speirs greeted. “How can I help you?”

“Hi. I know this isn’t really… Well, we only met the other day and you don’t know me that well yet, but still I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask…” Lipton paused and cleared his throat. He was fumbling even though there was really no need, and instead got to the point: “I was wondering, if you could do me a small favor with my case?”

Speirs studied him with intensity that Lipton rarely saw in other people. There was something sharp and calculating in his eyes, something that felt like almost a challenge and dared him to turn away, but Lipton looked right back. Speirs’ eyes were green. 

“Oh. Certainly. What is it, this small favor?” Speirs asked. 

The tension unraveled, and Lipton smiled. “I’m looking for a car that’s connected to my case. It’s disappeared but not reported stolen, and I was wondering if you could try and find if there’s anything else about it, maybe something that hasn’t been put in our databases yet. Anything would be helpful.” He pushed a copy of the car’s information across the desk to Speirs, who picked it up and glanced through it quickly. 

The green eyes flickered up and caught Lipton’s gaze over the paper. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do. Can I deliver the information to you directly?”

Email would have sufficed perfectly well, Lipton thought but shrugged. “Sure, if you want to. That would be nice.”

Speirs gave a sharp nod. “Good. Meet me for coffee in the cafeteria at four.” 

Lipton blinked, then blinked again. He opened his mouth to refuse because he felt that was what he ought to do, but couldn’t think of any reason why he should. He glanced quickly at the other people at work behind the desk, but no one was paying them any attention. Lipton smiled and shrugged and hesitantly said: “Yeah. Sure. I'll be there. See you.” 

Then he ducked his head and escaped to the elevator and back to his workspace. There was a warm flicker inside his chest, one he told himself he didn't have time for. 

*

It was a grey afternoon with occasional drizzling rain but nothing about that seemed to bother a certain type of people taking their furry four-legged friends to do sports, as Buck, Guarnere and Toye found out when they stepped out of their car next to the park.

The large field area had been temporarily turned into a dog sports arena complete with covered stands for the audience, and it was surrounded by tents offering food and drinks as well as selling dog-related products, advertising specialized animal diets and breed-specialized kennels. The field was full of noise, both from people and animals.

“Damn, people go crazy for their hobbies,” Buck said as the three of them started to walk towards the field.

“What, you don’t like dogs?” Guarnere asked.

“I do like dogs, but this is… excessive,” Buck replied.

The two other detectives could only agree. It was overwhelming to see so many people focused on something so niche at once, not to mention the smell of wet dog that greeted them as soon as they came close enough.

“So how do we find who we’re looking for?” Guarnere asked as they walked through the maze of tents towards the large arena and the audience stands. 

“The foundation should represent somewhere, so we could ask a few questions there,” Buck started. “There’s also probably some sort of a guest list or other grouping of golden-ticket members, they could know something.”

“Didn’t you say that Winters himself is here too?” Toye asked.

“Yes, he’s competing. We should find some sort of a program guide or something to see when.” 

“Should be split up then? Seems like there’s a lot of ground to cover and we don’t got all day,” Guarnere suggested. 

The two others agreed, and so they decided who was going to do what, and then agreed to meet up at the western side of the audience stands. 

Navigating the grounds turned out surprisingly easy, and people turned out to be talkative. Neither of the three introduced themselves as detectives, they just roamed here and there with their ears open and made conversation, picking up what they could.

Buck was the one who asked about Winters while he figured out the times and the competing order of the agility competition that was scheduled for later. He found out not only that Winters was competing with a six-year-old Labrador Retriever called “Million-Dollar Lollipop”, but also that people had a lot to say about him. 

After an hour when the agreed upon regrouping time neared, Buck and Guarnere ran into each other and together went out to look for Toye.

Buck was more baffled now than before, which seemed to be becoming the theme of this investigation. People had been very eager to talk about Winters. Some knew him and his dogs and had nothing but praise to share, how he was attentive and kind and endlessly patient both with people and animals, and oh how it was such a shame that he was already married. He apparently had two dogs and mostly brought them out by himself, but every now and then, mostly in big events and parties that were held inside, he made an outing with his husband. They were apparently a lovely couple, one of those who seemed to be meant for each other, always got along and walked with their arms linked, just absolutely picture perfect. 

Although, once Buck had pushed for more, some people were also eager to lean forward and hint that it was easy to fake a perfect marriage for one evening. The same people also had a variety of notes to make about them, how they came from such different backgrounds, how Winters had apparently been completely penniless before meeting Nixon, and how Nixon apparently drank a lot, too much in fact. More than one person also noted that the dogs – Million-Dollar Lollipop and Radison – had been given as a gift from Nixon to Winters – a poorly planned, unethical thing to do, according to them – and since they were a pretty pair of Labradors, one yellow and one brown, they were probably just decorations. Though the last part might have been said out of jealousy, since apparently Lollipop was a very decorated agility competitor. 

Buck and Guarnere spotted Toye lingering by the audience stands with his hands in his pockets, looking rather restless and grumpy in the light rain. 

Guarnere turned the collar of his jacket up and went straight to business: “So anyone find anything interesting?”

“Something, yeah,” Buck agreed.

“Yeah, me too, actually,” Toye said, cleared his throat and jerked his head towards the audience. “Found us seats too.”

The two others turned to look, and there on one of the reserved seats in a box isolated from the others around it sat a familiar dark-haired man. He was dressed casually in jeans, boots and a baggy wind coat that hung open, watching them like a hawk, and as the detectives turned to look, Lewis Nixon beckoned them up to him. 

Buck and Guarnere turned back to Toye, who shrugged. “Yeah, turns out that if you go around snooping about a crook’s husband, the crook will hear ya and wanna talk to you a bit.”

“Well we better go up then and not keep the man waiting,” Guarnere grumbled and started to lead the way up the stand.

All three of them rose the steps as Nixon watched them. He was lounging on his seat, comfortable like he didn’t have a care in the world, and when the three detectives stepped into the box he gestured them to take seats.

“Detectives,” he greeted lazily, “I heard from my people that you’ve been pretty curious about some things. You could just address your concerns directly to me instead of sneaking around.”

Reluctantly the detectives sat down, Buck first and Toye last. The confrontation was definitely a surprise, but without anything concrete or even remotely like an allegation to present him they were even more caught off guard. Buck presented a picture of a carefree, friendly police officer but internally cursed how Nixon had gotten a whiff of their investigation on his own terms. 

“We just like to keep ourselves updated on our old friends,” Buck said. 

“Is that so? And an agility competition was the place to do so?” Nixon scoffed, brow quirked. 

“As good as any. It’s not like we just schedule official appointments every time we want to be updated,” Toye said.

“That would be more polite,” Nixon replied. “And more fruitful, too. I can’t imagine what you could possibly get from here. This is just dog-lovers’ free time, there’s nothing to see here if the puppers themselves are not a draw.” 

“They might be,” Guarnere said, pretending to take the matter lightly, “but as homicide detectives, me and my buddy Toye here have learned that leads might hide in interesting places.”

Nixon just smirked in that lazy smug way he always did. “There’s hardly anything for homicide detectives here. I can assure you, my father is still alive and well despite his best efforts to drink himself to death, and I have no aspirations to pull a Hamlet on him either.”

Buck hummed a fake laugh at the phrasing. “Yes, very clever, Mr. Nixon. But your father is not who we’re interested in right now. We’d rather speak to you and what you’ve been up to. Who knows what we’ll find?”

Nixon rolled his eyes. “I certainly don’t know. It seems to me that not only all my life but also all of my father’s life the police have been so, so certain that there’s something fishy going on, but nothing’s ever been found. Aren’t you bored of being wrong yet?” 

“Human lives are no laughing matter,” Toye coldly pointed out. “I wouldn’t be so relaxed if I were you. After all, one of your company’s spin-off operations just suffered a terrible triple homicide. You must be very upset.”

“Oh, I am. It was awful,” Nixon assured them, eyes wide and mockingly sincere, “I trust you will find the murderer and bring them to justice so that the families of the victims can have closure.” 

Buck narrowed his eyes. The man was saying all sorts of things, picking all the right words just as was expected of a socialite and a businessman of a third generation, but there was just enough irony in his tone that revealed he meant none of it. It was all a game for him, one he played out of boredom and was ultimately indifferent to.

“We’re all very sorry about those violent murders,” Buck said, his tone carefully neutral. “I can promise you that we will get to the bottom of this. We’ll of course be very tactful, it’s not like you have ever before been involved in a murder investigation. There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

Nixon huffed as he measured Buck with his eyes. “I’m not involved in anything.”

“Sure you ain’t,” Guarnere said. “But we’ll keep an eye on you. And your partner, who we don’t know that well yet.”

For the first time there was something serious and tense in Nixon, something dark flickering in his eyes and the line of his shoulders squared slightly. “That’s what my people told me you were asking about. What business do you have with Dick?” 

All three detectives heard the seriousness that appeared in Nixon’s tone, and all three knew instantly that this was something worth pursuing. The Nixon family had always been guarded like a fortress where no one from the outside could gain access, but this looked promisingly like an opening.

“Well he is married to you, so naturally we want to know how he’s involved in all this,” Toye pointed out. 

“Yeah, we want to know who he is, what’s he like, how he came to your life and how you’ve mixed him into that nothing at all that is your family’s business, as you yourself put it,” Guarnere joined in. 

Nixon looked at them both, evaluating each with a cold smile on his lips, and finally said: “If you ask my father, I married the help. Dick’s got nothing to do with any business. He’s a stay-at-home husband, I support him fully since, as you well know, I _can_, and that’s that.”

“Oh yes, we’ve heard all about your unlikely love affair, congratulations on that,” Buck said. “We’ll put all that in his file. We’ll be making one for him, of course. We got all the basic information already, about his childhood in Pennsylvania, the death of his father, his service in the army, stuff like that. So thank you for filling us in some more, you’ve been really helpful.”

Nixon didn’t seem amused at all, so much so in fact that he didn’t have a witty comeback or really anything to say at all. He sniffed in distain, leaned back on his seat and switched to his business voice: “I don’t want you speaking to my husband, nor do I want to speak to you anymore either. Next time when you show up to stick your noses into my homelife, please have some actual business or the Chicago PD will be hearing from our lawyer.”

He dismissed them, and after that there was no point for them to stay. They were just on their way out of the audience and the event altogether when the first round of competitors was announced. 

Among them was a tall man with red hair, and by his side an athletic-looking eager brown Labrador. The man didn’t even glance into the audience, not to the detectives who were leaving when everyone else was seated, nor to his husband. 

*

As agreed, Lipton made his way to the familiar lunch cafeteria just before four o'clock, feeling anticipating butterflies in his stomach. He didn't know Speirs at all yet, but the man radiated competence and work ethic, and Lipton had a feeling he would apply that to this favor he had asked of him. Lipton knew that the possibility of Speirs coming up as empty was more than real, but somehow he had a feeling that the man would find something interesting for him.

Lipton bought a coffee, mixed in some cream and picked a window table for two, then sat down to wait for Speirs. He wondered distantly why he had gone to Speirs instead of a colleague at his department, but a stranger or not there was something familiar about him. It was a funny feeling, completely irrational and too vague to even properly grasp, but also harmless, so Lipton refused to put it under too much scrutiny.

Speirs arrived exactly five minutes before four, and Lipton waved at him from his table. Speirs had a thin egg-brown file under his arm when he walked to the food line, and Lipton considered that a good sign.

Lipton went back to his coffee and staring out of the window into the rainy autumn afternoon of Chicago. The traffic below moved sluggishly, the afternoon rush out of downtown already forming, and Lipton was once again grateful that he didn't have a car. It looked like it was going to rain properly soon, and with a grimace of a smile Lipton thought about his colleagues out there on some field around wet dogs while he was here, snug in a cafeteria having a hot cup of coffee with someone. 

He was startled from his thoughts when a plate clinked on the table and turned his gaze to Speirs, who was taking a seat opposite of him. He had a coffee cup in hand as well, and when Lipton looked at the table between them, he saw a dessert plate with a slice of rhubarb pie and two forks on it. He raised his gaze questioningly at Speirs, but he was busy sorting through what little papers the file contained while tossing sugar cubes and emptying creamers into his coffee. 

Lipton tapped the table next to the plate. Speirs looked up.

“What's this?” Lipton asked, pointing at the dessert.

Speirs raised an eyebrow. “It's a slice of pie. I thought we might share it since we're here, but if you don't like rhubarb, it's okay. You don't have to eat it just because I bought it.”

“No no, rhubarb is fine. I like... sour things,” Lipton hurried to assure him, then hid behind his coffee cup. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought. 

Speirs gave him a small smile and turned the plate a little so that the other fork was better within reach, then went back to sorting the papers. Lipton glanced at the slice. It was a good-sized piece, enough for two, and it looked delicious. He suddenly realized he was in need of a snack anyway; the lunch hour had been four hours ago and he was getting hungry. He picked up the fork and started halving the slice into two even pieces.

“I think you'll be glad to hear that I found something on your missing vehicle,” Speirs said, pulled out a document, set it on the table and pushed it towards Lipton, who leaned in fast to see what was in it.

“Parking tickets?” he asked.

“Indeed. From the past two weeks, three tickets. It looks like he spent several hours of time around these addresses and didn't mind the parking meters too much.”

“This is... This is great!” Lipton breathed, forgetting about the pie and going over each ticket on the document, all indeed written for the missing car that was owned by Mrs. Krasinski. “There's got to be something important somewhere in the immediate vicinity of at least one of these addresses.”

Speirs picked up a fork of his own and continued where Lipton had left off with the pie. “It's certainly worth a closer look,” he agreed. 

“I can tell right now that there's at least one Nixon Funding’s building within a block of one of these streets. The ticket was written only a little over a week ago, so it might very well be connected to the murder.”

“Murder?” Speirs asked, clear surprise in his voice. 

Lipton looked up.

“I thought you worked white-collar crime,” Speirs said.

“Oh. Yes, I usually do, but one of my about-to-be key witnesses was murdered, as were two of his colleagues in the same company. We were investigating him about a fraud, possibly embezzling, but apparently the case was much bigger than we initially thought. He was silenced, and now me and one another white-collar detective are on a joined investigation with two homicide detectives,” Lipton explained.

Speirs raised his brows and nodded. His expressions and gestures were something that Lipton didn't quite know how to read yet, but he seemed to take the information in without any further confusion or real surprise. 

“That sounds serious,” Speirs said. “Have you worked homicide before?”

Lipton shook his head. “Economic crime has always been my field, one way or another. Organized crime comes in the mix sometimes, but mostly it's investors and shady businesses. You know, inside trading, tax evasion, insurance fraud, things like that.” 

Speirs listened keenly with that same intense look in his eyes that was starting to seem like his default state. Lipton hadn't yet decided if he found it unnerving or was it flattering to be a target of such a focus. 

“You have a lot of experience,” Speirs observed.

Lipton tilted his head, hearing the compliment but not knowing what to do about it. “Ten years in the force,” he said, toasting with his coffee cup. 

“Must be an important case then since they put you on it.”

Lipton gave half a shrug and turned his attention to the pie for a change. He cut a bite-sized piece from his side of the plate. “Well... We just reopened a case that's been kind of a speck of shame on CPD's record,” he said. “We're after this family business that launders dirty money for whoever comes knocking. A subcontractor for crime families, basically.”

Speirs let out a laugh, a small amused hum, and the sound made Lipton look up. Speirs was smiling, a thin line of teeth peeking from between his lips.

“Crime families have subcontractors?” he chuckled. “I guess the corporatization doesn't exempt the underworld then.” 

“Well, in a sense it's just economy like anything else, just illegal. The laws of economics still apply all the same, in this case budgets,” Lipton replied. 

Speirs' smile tilted. “That's a fascinatingly morally neutral comment from a servant of justice.” 

The comment made Lipton chuckle. He wondered if this was Speirs' brand of humour, these quiet, dry observations of the unusual. “You have to understand what you're up against, otherwise you won't be able to predict it or plan against it,” Lipton said.

Speirs nodded his understanding, focusing his fork on his share of the pie. “Very smart.” 

For a moment they both just sampled the pie that turned out to be better than expected from an ordinary lunch cafeteria and drank their coffee. Silence between them was surprisingly comfortable, and Lipton wondered if it was all because of Speirs and his natural confidence.

“So did you have anything else in there?” Lipton asked after a moment. 

Speirs put his fork down and went back to the file. “Actually, I do. I thought that since the car isn't parked where it should be and the driver is dead, it might have been taken somewhere by authorities.”

Lipton swallowed a mouthful of coffee a little too quickly, too curious to wait another second. “It wasn't towed. I checked,” he explained.

“It was not,” Speirs agreed, “and so I cast a larger net. The vehicle doesn't technically exist anymore since it was taken to a scrap yard and was promptly destroyed about a week ago. Here.” He handed him another printed document from a local metal recycling center's register that indeed had the familiar license number listed on it, as well as an interesting date.

“The day after the murder,” Lipton muttered, frowning. “Oh, this guy is good. Is it possible that there'd be a witness who could describe the person who took the car there?”

“Already asked,” Speirs replied. “No such luck. Apparently people can just leave stuff there. Not usually cars, but it wasn’t anything too unusual so they processed it like any other piece of garbage and trashed it.” His head was curiously tilted, but he didn't ask anything. He seemed like a man who didn't pry into other people's business, even though he clearly wanted to.

The documents were definitely valuable information even though it meant they had mostly cold leads, and Lipton piled them neatly on the table. His coffee was cooling, and so he got to it while it was still drinkable. He glanced at Speirs over the rim of the cup and saw him studying him again, his green eyes slowly tracing his features. Suddenly Lipton felt the scar on his face itching, and without thinking he ducked his head behind the cup and angled his face away from Speirs.

“Thanks for this,” he said. “You helped me with this one.”

“It's probably not going to lead you to your target though,” Speirs noted. He leaned back on his chair and glanced outside into the rain. 

“It won't,” Lipton admitted hesitantly. He wondered if Speirs was sorry he hadn’t been able to help more, and uncomfortably considered if he had come across too demanding. “But still, I owe you for this. You don't even know me and still you agreed to help. So, thank you.”

Speirs glanced at him from the corner of his eye and gave him another thin, slightly toothy smile. “We're colleague, Detective Lipton. Of course I'll help if you ask me to. I wish you happy hunting with this one.”

Lipton frowned despite his smile. That was an odd wish, but then again Speirs didn't seem like anyone Lipton knew so that would be expected. “Thank you. This case is... unusual. I've occasionally been involved in cases that involve violence, after all, people kill for money, but this is the first time I've investigated a hitman.”

Speirs' brows quirked. “How do you know it’s a hit?” he asked.

“It's actually a series of jobs, we have three bodies, you see. And I couldn't tell, but Bill and Joe from Homicide know these things and they have this very convincing theory, and I trust their competence on this. It's all in the efficiency and the lack of forensic evidence and suspects, and a scene that brutal with a fast execution tells us that this guy has a well-honed method, thus he’s a professional.” Lipton was just musing, talking as much to himself as he was to his afternoon coffee company, gathering up what he already knew and already planning ahead where to go from here, when he suddenly remembered that he was talking to their front desk manager. 

He felt his cheeks heating, and hoping it wasn't a visible blush cleared his throat, straightening up on his seat. “Sorry, that was a bit much. I don't know if you have, you know, experience with this stuff,” he explained hurriedly, “I didn't mean to bring a serial murder case to the table, I'm sorry if that's upsetting or crude or – “ he stopped himself from rambling further, clearing his throat again and shutting up.

There was slow smile rising to Speirs' face, one that warmed his hard features as he listened Lipton stumbling through his explanations. He tilted his head again with an amused spark in his eyes, and something in that keen look made Lipton flush even more. 

“Don't worry about it,” Speirs assured him after a beat of awkward silence. “I've handled evidence for murder cases and done reports on violent crimes. I may not be a detective, but I'm not completely innocent either.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Lipton said. He didn't know what else to say or where to go from there, so he took a gulp out of his cup. Speirs just smiled at him, unnervingly focused and obviously amused. 

The pie was soon gone, as was the coffee. Their afternoon was ticking away with already a half an hour passed. It wasn't a sinfully long coffee break, especially not with case-related evidence on the table, but still. 

Speirs got up first. “I'd better get back to the lobby now,” he said. “Officers working at the front desk are very capable, but they still need me, and I have work left for today. So, thank you for your company, I'll see you around.” He picked up his empty cup and the plate to take to the dish racks and was already a few steps away from the table when Lipton acted before thinking.

“I'll return the favor sometime!” he blurted after him, making Speirs turn back to him. “Somehow,” he added.

Speirs flashed him a sharp smile. “I'll hold you to that. Good day now, Detective Lipton.” 

Lipton briefly wondered what he had just promised to do, but the flutter in his stomach was more excitement than anxiety. It was a beautiful afternoon.


	4. Bormann

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on previous chapters! Here's an update: prepare for more friends and new developments on the case.

It was his day off, but still Lipton snapped awake just before five in the morning. He had had a dream he couldn’t remember but it had left his heart racing and his sheets damp with cold sweat. He had sprung up as he woke, but when his head cleared and he realized where he was he slumped down and huffed in frustration. It was Saturday and he could have slept as long as he pleased, but there was no washing out the adrenaline from his system and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.

So instead of lying in bed he got up and made breakfast, then took his exercise bag and went down to the basement of his building where there was a gym. He started his workout groggy and mildly annoyed, but as he warmed up and then got into the proper rhythm his mood improved. He had slacked off with his exercising routine while he was recovering but was pleased to see that he could go through his regular routine without pain.

By seven Lipton was in a significantly better mood and feeling steady on his feet as if he had never had a nightmare, and that was what he preferred to tell himself.

He was fully awake and ready for his day off, but it was still too early to actually to do much and so he stayed at his apartment, half watching tv and half reading a novel he had been working on for a month, resulting in not paying attention to either one. Staying within the four walls reminded him too much of his sick leave, locked in alone and useless, and not for the first time he wondered if he should get a cat. 

Lipton wasted his morning away and by eleven got out of the apartment. The weather was nice, sky was clear and the autumn air was crisp. It was colder than usual this time of the year, but it was all good for Lipton as he started walking. The chilly air cleared his head and he walked several blocks, then visited a mall trying to decide what sort of a gift to bring.

The hospital allowed visitors only at certain hours and the temptation to abuse his badge to get special privileges was great, but once again deciding to be a law-abiding police detective Lipton painstakingly killed two more hours of time. 

The recovery ward must have gotten used to frequenting police officers, so much so that the nurse manning the front desk knew whom he was looking for without asking.

The young black woman wearing pink scrubs smiled warmly to Lipton when she checked patient information on the computer. “You’re a friend of Smokey’s, correct?”

Lipton was a bit taken aback by the familiarity. “Ah, yes, Detective Walter Gordon. I’m Carwood Lipton, we work together.”

“Yes, I know, he’s talked about you quite a lot,” the nurse said. Her nametag read “Anna Chiwy”. 

Something about her words warmed Lipton’s heart. “That’s nice.”

Nurse Chiwy smiled back at him. “He’s made a lot of progress with his recovery, and he’s such a sweetheart too. You’ll find him in the room 35, down that hallway,” she said and waved towards the corridor behind Lipton. 

Lipton thanked her and continued to the direction she had pointed him to.

The door was cracked open, and Lipton knocked lightly before stepping in. It was completely unfitting to see a man like Gordon bed-ridden, but somehow even the sterile hospital room felt warm and bright when he smiled.

“Lip! Look who’s finally showing his face!” Smokey greeted him cheerfully. “Come on in, my guy! And please tell me you’re intending to share that thing.”

Lipton couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling even if he wanted to and sheepishly lifted the box of chocolates. “I think I’m supposed to bring flowers but I was afraid you’d just eat those.”

Gordon wrinkled his nose. “I’m glad you came to your senses, then. Come on in, take a seat! Tell me, how are things?”

There was one chair in the room and Lipton pulled it next to the bed and sat down. Gordon could only turn his head. The bed was big and motorized, specially made for someone who couldn’t move much on his own. The head of the bed was raised so he could sit up and he was supported by multiple large pillows, there was a wheelchair by the bed, and his torso was wrapped with several belts into some sort of support vest that made Lipton think of Kevlar. He had a book open in his lap, but now that he had a visitor he closed it and put it on his nightstand. The simple task took him two hands and a full minute, and Lipton waited on him patiently.

“Well? Are you going to give that chocolate to me?” Gordon asked. 

Lipton grinned, already fighting the wrapping with his fingernails. “Yeah, I am, just give me a minute,” he said. 

“Sure, sure, as long as I get sweets eventually. I’ve gotten dozens of cards and enough flowers to open a shop, but very few chocolate boxes. What are people thinking? I am here, living on hospital food, and no one sends me anything edible!” Gordon rambled with a grin on his face. “Not that I’m complaining too much, there’s dessert every day, and nurses on this ward are really pretty.”

Lipton had gotten the plastic off the chocolate box and smiled knowingly back at Gordon. “Is there a girl you don’t find pretty?”

“All girls are pretty, but especially nurses! Anna and Renée are both so sweet I’m writing poems for each of them!” 

“I believe you,” Lipton said and set the box of chocolates in Gordon’s lap. “I hope you’ve not tricked them to go easy on you.”

“Not a chance! They are hardy, these gals,” Gordon chatted as he worked on getting a piece of candy in his fingers. Lipton wanted to help but didn’t dare to offer in case it was insulting. Eventually, Gordon managed to make a chocolate roll onto his palm, and slowly he got it into his mouth. “How have you been holding up? You got banged up pretty good as well after all,” he asked while chewing. 

Lipton felt suddenly awkward and remembered the dream from earlier morning. “I’ve been fine. Nothing was damaged permanently, the harm is just… Cosmetic,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his face.

Gordon just grinned and flopped his hand in what was probably meant to be a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about that! Your charm is in your soulful brown eyes and sugar-sweet smile, not to mention your strong arms and shoulders. You have an aura of mystery to you now as well.”

No one else but Gordon could have spoken so directly as well as kindly, and Lipton felt a flush of gratitude towards him. “Sure, Smokey, sure, let’s just hope all the guys in Chicago agree.”

“They will,” Gordon said confidently. “You’re back at work too, that’s great! Or, you are for now, if the Nixon case won’t tank your career.” 

Lipton chuckled and rubbed his temple. “Oh God, you just said what the rest of us have been trying to avoid thinking. If we want to close this case, it might as well be the last case I work before retiring.”

“It’s a little early to despair, don’t you think?” Gordon said. “Wasn’t there new developments?” 

Lipton sighed. “Yeah, three pristinely clean murder scenes and a hitman in Chicago – if he hasn’t left the state already.”

Gordon was working on the box of chocolates again. “Don’t lose hope yet, if there’s no proof that he’s skipped town then it’s best to operate as if he’s still here.”

“That’s just the thing, there’s not much proof of anything.”

“Well, that is a unique feature on its own. Smart criminals are very rare, and a clean trail of a professional among heaps of forensic evidence and mistakes of others is a pattern in itself.”

Something clicked for Lipton then. Gordon was of course right. Just because the crime scenes were clean of any prints and DNA evidence didn’t mean they didn’t tell them anything useful. The lack of evidence would be a problem for the prosecutor, but right now for the police trying to figure out where their guy had been before it might as well been a trail of a finger in a layer of dust.

“I wonder how wide a net I should cast if I wanted to find the trail,” Lipton muttered, staring out of the window.

Gordon made a pained hissing sound just thinking about it. “A hitman sounds like someone who works in every state, and maybe even internationally. If he’s got a military background he’d be used to travelling and probably has connections.”

“You’re getting why Bill and Joe hate this guy so much and want to catch him so bad,” Lipton noted. 

“Yep.”

Lipton wanted to say how much he missed Smokey at work but suddenly didn’t dare. He glanced at his restraints and the wheelchair and wondered if he’d ever get back to work, gloomily realizing that it was very unlikely. “How are you doing, Smokey?” he asked instead.

Something about Gordon dimmed, his eyes seemed less bright and his smile suddenly not so genuine. “I’m making progress. There’s a lot of therapy going on, and a lot of new gadgets the nurses are making me learn to use. I don’t know how things will turn out, so I’m both trying to learn to walk and use a wheelchair – there’s so many tricks that go to using the chair, you wouldn’t believe! The pros make it look so easy, but goddammit every time I try to go downhill on a ramp…” 

“You’re working very hard,” Lipton said, interrupting the flood of words.

“Yeah,” Gordon sighed. He was silent for a moment and focused on the box of chocolates. “No one’s come for my badge quite yet, but it looks like I got to start thinking about a new line of work, partner.”

“You don’t know that.”

Gordon threw him a somber look. “Thanks for believing in me, and I’d love to go back to fighting for justice with you, but I think I might have to maybe start using my law degree for that.”

Lipton had to admit that Gordon’s predictions were realistic, but nothing in the world could have made him say that out loud. “Everyone misses you.”

Gordon’s smile was back in its full force. “Of course they do! I will have written a comeback poem for every cop in our department by the time I get out of here.”

“The joy of having you back will be short-lived, then.”

There was a knock on the door, and a second later another nurse peeked into the room. “Hi, how are you doing today, Walter?” the young, dark-haired man asked. “Ready for physiotherapy?” 

“Hi, Gene!” Gordon greeted the nurse. “Say hi to my buddy Lip from CPD. Lip, say hi to nurse Roe, or Eugene or Gene if you want to be friendly. He’s helped me in and out of that chair ever since I got out of intensive care.” 

Nurse Roe smiled and nodded to Lipton as he came into the room. He was a man of average height with a caring warmth to him that was in stark contrast with his sharp cheekbones, ink black hair and pale skin. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a Southern accent Lipton couldn’t place. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take Walter away from you.” He went to the other side of Gordon’s bed, took the box of chocolate from his lap and placed it on the nightstand, then started working on the mechanics of the metal sidebars of the bed, sliding them down and out of the way.

Lipton was immediately saddened that his visit was coming to an end, and so abruptly. “Do you have to? Maybe I could accompany him and help – ?” 

But Gordon interrupted him: “No, just seeing you was plenty helpful! I don’t want to take up too much of your day off. I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure?” Lipton asked, watching Gordon wrap his arms around Roe’s neck so that he could be helped from the bed into the wheelchair. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go and be free.”

Lipton didn’t have a choice but to say his goodbyes to his friend again and go figure out some other way to spend his Saturday. But he didn’t leave empty-handed, thinking back to what Gordon had said about their hitman and how to get more information about him. Lipton dreaded to think the deep dive into the national database for similar murders, not only because of the bureaucracy but also fearing what would come up. Coming up with nothing and with possibly dozens of murders all across the country during several years were both terrifying options. 

Decisively he suppressed the fear. He had searches to run and then phone calls to make.

It was two more weeks before there was any interesting development on the case, and it was all thanks to the cyber unit that had been put on surveillance and intel. It had all the signs of a turning point, so much so that Luz came up in person to inform them of the fruits of their labor.

“We may have an idea of what’s going on,” he said with a confident grin. 

Lipton, Buck, Guarnere and Toye were all huddled over their individual work, piles of forensic reports from the lab and complicated reports on accounting data and corresponding information from the banks involved. They were all grateful to be interrupted. 

“What is it?” Toye asked.

Luz just grinned. “You’ll have to follow me.”

So again they squeezed into the small office where Perconte and Heffron were both waiting for them, both as smug as Luz was. 

Luz climbed over Perconte to his own computer, and the four detectives fit themselves between them and the wall, rather claustrophobically. 

“Well?” Buck hurried them, clearly uncomfortable. 

Luz launched onto the backstory: “So there was this campaign fundraiser party last week, yeah? Ol’ Stanhope Nixon’s pal is running for office, and so that particular circus was kickstarted. There’s this friend of mine who happens to have a press card and she was going there, and so I said, hey buddy pal, would you mind keeping an eye out in case of a criminally handsome junior fella and send me the results, and so she did.” 

He brought up a file that had dozens of photographs in it, and when he clicked it open and started to browse through the picture it became clear that Luz’s friend had indeed sent him everything. The party was excessive in a conservative sense, decorated with red and white banners and ribbons and held in what looked like a country club. There were round tables with white tablecloths set for a multi-course dinner, big, elaborate flower arrangements and about a dozen people on waitstaff carrying trays of drinks. There was probably close to a hundred guests, and judging by the lighting the photos tracked the entire evening long into the night. 

“This is what the parties by filthy rich people for other filthy rich people look like,” Luz narrated, “they host them in their private clubs and have shrimp buffets and open bars. Please also note that crystal chandelier that probably aspires to murder someone in the future.” 

“The point, Luz,” Lipton gently urged.

“Yes, yes, right away, Lip,” he said, “just hang on a minute until I find it.” He hastily browsed the pictures, and then finally found one with Lewis Nixon in it, sitting alone by the bar.

“Ah, there he is,” Luz said, “and without his man, as you see. My friend tells me that Nixon never brings Winters in places like this. Never mixes love and work, according to her – or at least love and politics. Another friend of mine who is a freelance journalist and has a blog claims that Stanhope doesn’t ever want to see his son-in-law at his parties, or with baby Nixon anywhere.” 

There were several pictures of Nixon hanging by the bar, alone and drinking, looking slightly bored but not obviously so, probably because of the cameras present. The glass of whiskey he had was emptying at a brisk pace between the shots.

“And then, wait for it,” Luz said with his forefinger up, preparing them for something, “Look who it is! A friend appears.” 

A small group of people had walked up to Nixon by the bar, all of them in suits and two in long dark overcoats, implying they had just arrived or not been invited at all. One of the men, a stocky middle-aged man with a round face and his thinning hair combed back, was talking to Nixon, who straightened up when approached and looked very unhappy to be confronted like that. 

The interaction was apparently a short one, and the group left together for the backyard. 

Perconte cut in: “Everyone, meet Nixon’s friend Bormann. He’s a ‘businessman’ working in ‘real estate’ and ‘import and export’.” He made air quotes with his fingers as he spoke. “One of those people who hasn’t been caught yet.”

Luz hurried to speak again: “A friend of mine who works for Interpol says Bormann is a person of interest in several cases involving smuggling, drug and weapons trafficking and murders in several European countries.”

“He’s probably a client,” Heffron piped up from his side of the room.

“We’ve never had a client of the Nixons before,” Buck said, the weight of the situation dawning on him and making him obviously excited. He turned to Lipton who also realized just how important this was, and they exchanged a hyped look. 

Lipton clapped Luz on the back. “Good work, guys. Could you please have these pictures printed out and sent to us?”

“Can do, Lip,” Luz said, beaming with praise and got to it.

“Nice,” Guarnere said, and Toye nodded. 

The pictures came, and they got to stick them to the board.

“So, Bormann. And, presumably, goons,” Buck said as he put the clearest picture on the board, picked up a marker and started to draw arrows and write down names. “Now the question is, what’s he doing here?”

“Nixon doesn’t look too happy to see him,” Guarnere pointed out. 

“No, he certainly does not. I wonder what’s the matter,” Lipton said.

“Perhaps Nixon had accountants on Bormann’s payroll killed or something?” Toye suggested. “That would tie in the bodies we have.”

“That would mean embezzlement instead of money-laundering, and not connected to Nixon. We might be looking at rivalry and not business dealings, and murders instead of shady money,” Lipton continued. “Unfortunately, following the money is our strongest chance at actual evidence that would lead to sentencing.”

“Though Bormann is exactly the kind of guy who’s in business that would need to erase the origin of his money,” Buck noted. His gaze was flicking across the board and the many people put up on it. Bormann was not connected to anyone but Nixon, but he fit the profile of a client perfectly. 

“Maybe so, but rivalry might bring down them both,” Guarnere said. “Maybe the old bosses don’t like the new management that much. They don’t look exactly friendly.”

Toye was tapping his foot, arms crossed and thinking about the practical problems. “Bormann hasn’t been sentenced about anything, has he? Even though he’s operated across Europe?” 

“That’s right,” Lipton admitted. “Some of his operations in Europe have been busted, but he’s never been tied to any of them. He covers his tracks too well. We should send a query to Interpol for details.”

“How are none of these people caught?” Guarnere gruntled behind his teeth. 

“It’s the nature of organized crime,” Buck answered with a sigh, “low-level operations are sometimes caught, but the leadership knows how to keep their distance and protect themselves. It’s actually pretty rare to see one make an outing like this.”

Toye frowned. “Quite a turn-up for a minor disagreement over embezzlement. Nah, I don’t buy that. There’s got to be something serious and personal going on for the big shots to show up.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Lipton continued. “They’ve come out of hiding, and now we’ve seen them. I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t think a single innocent reason why these people would meet like that.”

That was something they agreed on. This was certainly something, and they decided to chase it. Never once during the decades the Chicago Police Department’s white-collar unit had investigated Nixon Funding had they managed to pinpoint a client, just like there had never been homicides tied to them. 

This was new. Something was definitely going differently this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
I'd love to hear from you readers what you think of the story, so leave a comment if you feel like it!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as [Howling-Harpy](https://howling-harpy.tumblr.com/).


	5. Family quarrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on the previous chapters. It makes me really glad to see people reading this. 
> 
> It's time for an update. Something a bit different this time, perhaps!

Lewis was angry and hungover and becoming more and more irritated by each minute he had to spend in the back of a cab being driven to his father’s office so he could speak to him. His own father, who didn’t accept phone calls from his son when he needed it. It was nothing but entirely typical of him, and when Lewis had finally grown fed up with expecting decency and getting either the secretary or the voice-mail, he settled on the option of just barging in.

His foot was drumming the car floor and he cursed multiple things silently in his mind. Stupid fundraiser, stupid work that followed him around like that, and stupid open bar. 

Right then out of all of them, with his eyes hurting, his body sore and his mouth tasting like wet cardboard, Lewis regretted the open bar the most. He really should just listen to Dick and not go to places with bars like that, no matter how sensible his use of alcohol otherwise was nowadays. He was never strong enough to stop the waterfall when it had started, and in the case of an open bar there was nothing else to dam it either.

It had all gone wrong last night, so wrong. He hadn’t said anything when he had gotten home, but he was certain that Dick knew something was up, and not just from being woken up by his drunken husband stumbling into bed.

In the morning Lewis had woken to the sizzling sound of a frying pan and clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen, and only a second after he returned consciousness he had felt the hangover. 

Blessedly the bedroom was dark, but Lewis didn’t need to squint against daylight to recognize his old demon. His entire body felt weak and clammy, he was lethargic like rising out of a coma and not a goodnight’s sleep, and his mouth was sticky and had the lingering taste of whiskey in it. Luckily he didn’t feel like he was going to be sick, but that didn’t mean his body didn’t protest moving. He didn’t have to reach over to feel the chilly sheets to know that Dick had been up for some time already, probably been on the morning run with the dogs too. 

It was starting to smell like breakfast, and thankfully not of grease or meat or anything else like that, but of fresh coffee and toast. Lewis prayed there would be something juicy and fresh at the table when he’d finally have to get up, something that would refresh him and wash the sticky feeling in his mouth down.

But when Dick finally appeared back to the bedroom it wasn’t to call him to eat in the kitchen. He pushed the door open with his foot as both his hands were holding a large tray that he brought to the bed and laid down in the middle. The tray had a small pot of coffee with a creamer and a tiny bowl of sugar, a plate of crispy slices of French toast topped with a thin spread of strawberry jam and whipped cream, a bowl of sliced and cubed fruits and finally a tall glass of orange juice.

Lewis pushed himself to sit up and taking in the whole setting mumbled: “I’ve been that bad, huh?”

Dick gave him one of his looks as he arranged the dishes and poured them both cups of coffee. “I had a feeling you’d feel pretty awful this morning,” he said.

“Yeah. Yeah, last night got out of hand,” Lewis admitted in a raspy voice that underlined the point. 

“That’s what it looked like,” Dick said, pushing a cup of coffee into Lewis’ hand. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but since I did… I told you so.” 

“That you did. You are so wise, my love,” Lewis crooned sweetly, “and made me breakfast too, you are too much. What have I done to deserve you?”

“Stop it. Just eat, you’ll feel better.” Dick tried to look chastising, but a stubborn smile was tugging at his lips and Lewis knew him too well to miss it. 

Lewis had no appetite but knew from too much experience that he had to eat anyway, and also from experience Dick had assembled the perfect buffet to combat the effects of his self-inflected poisoning. Coffee was perfect like always, and Lewis started with that. It warmed his hands and the placebo effect helped him wake up before he even drank it. 

Lewis ended up picking a slice of watermelon first and nibbled it carefully. It was too light to upset his stomach if it was planning to start acting up, and slowly he ate the piece of fruit, each bite easier than the one before. 

Dick was sipping his coffee and allowing Lewis to bring himself back among the living at his own pace, but when the watermelon was gone Dick picked up the glass of juice and pushed it towards him. “Here. Drink this.” 

There was no arguing with him, especially not now that Lewis was already in the wrong, so he meekly accepted the glass and lifted it to his lips. The juice was freshly pressed, sweet and had shreds of fruit pulp in it, and when it filled his mouth Lewis felt at once how thirsty he was and downed all of it in one go.

Meanwhile Dick picked himself a slice of French toast. “So, you want to tell me what went wrong last night?”

“No, not really,” Lewis answered while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a slice of toast as well, piled slices of kiwi and banana on it and took a hefty bite. “I just ran into a client and it didn’t go too well. Their payments are late and they are getting impatient.” 

“Can’t imagine the open bar helped with that,” Dick commented.

Lewis barked a humourless laugh. “Oh, it sure helped me last night, not so much this morning. A short-term help, I’d say.”

Dick didn’t reply, just savored his toast. He didn’t have to make a comment for Lewis to know what he was thinking, and he waved his hand apologetically. “I know, I know,” he groaned, “I’ll solve it for real. I’ll call my father and have this mess sorted out. No more drinking it away, I promise.”

“Good,” Dick said, then reached over to brush his hand against Lewis’ stubbly cheek affectionately. “I’m rooting for you.”

When the breakfast was gone Lewis had gone to take a shower and then gotten to work. Only his father had refused to pick up the phone, forcing Lewis to go out and hunt him down in person. He hadn’t exaggerated when he had said that things were bad and it was something that French toast, watermelon and orange juice couldn’t fix. 

Finally Lewis arrived at a tall office building where his father kept office, jumped out of the cab and walked in. He walked easily past the security in the lobby and took the elevator up, then stormed past the secretary who tried to stop him and walked straight into Stanhope’s office. 

Stanhope was speaking on the phone when Lewis threw the double doors open, spared him an unimpressed, annoyed look and raised his finger to order silence. Lewis threw his hands up in exasperation but didn’t say anything, and Stanhope continued his business on the phone.

The office was grand, as one would expect, a big carpeted space with a large desk by the tall windows giving out to the city, and a social space with a bar and antique green couches on the other side. Lewis resisted the temptation to make himself a drink and just threw himself on one of the stiff couches to wait. 

Stanhope was arranging some sort of a conference and working out something on the guest list with someone he probably appreciated as a person since there was a lot of social small talk and laughing along the business, and so Lewis braced himself for a long while. 

He got to wait almost a half an hour before Stanhope finally said his farewells to the person on the other end of the line, then put his cellphone away in the breast pocket of his suit, and finally turned to his son. 

“What do you think you’re doing, barging into my office unannounced like that?” he snapped. 

“You don’t really leave me any other choice since you won’t pick up your phone and your secretary tells me to make an appointment, so I came here myself,” Lewis answered, already annoyed. 

“Your personal matters don’t take priority, Lewis,” Stanhope scoffed. “I wish you’d learned that by now, you’re not a boy anymore.”

“This is business,” Lewis shot back, dryly.

“Then why couldn’t you make an appointment like everyone else?”

“You’re my dad! I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to talk to you!”

Stanhope scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be childish, Lewis. Now what’s this about?” 

“Bormann came up to me yesterday at your buddy’s fundraiser. He wants to know why he hasn’t gotten his money out yet,” Lewis explained. 

“Yes, I saw him. What do you think you’re doing, meeting clients like that in public?” Stanhope demanded.

Lewis threw his hands up again. “I didn’t want to meet him! He found me and just came up to me! How is it my fault that he’s stupid enough to do that?!”

Stanhope laughed coldly and launched on a lecture: “It is your fault! This is your business, and you don’t get to take just the victories, you take the falls as well, and if a client is not properly instructed and they make a mistake, that’s on you. It is your business, so you deal with it.”

Lewis bit his lip and frowned. There was bitter anger flickering in his chest, and he felt equal parts righteous and petty about it. He took a deep inhale through his nose and forced himself to be focused and practical. “I don’t know how,” he admitted.

Stanhope stared him down, something sanctimonious in his expression. He huffed. “And what about it? You want me to solve this for you?”

“No,” Lewis snapped, “I want advice. This was your business long before it was mine, and you fucking made me take it over, so how about you share some experience or advice?”

“Don’t you swear at me, boy!” Stanhope snapped right back. 

Lewis pursed his lips and glanced aside. “The police have taken an interest in us again. I told Bormann he’d have to wait until we shake them before I can do business freely again, but he’s impatient.” 

Stanhope shrugged. “Of course he is. He probably has to put that money forward, and you’re sitting on it. Why don’t you use those oh so creative off-shore routes you boasted to me about some years ago?” 

Lewis glared at him. “I am, but they take time. The whole point is to split the money up and use small amounts. It takes time to complete the route and gather it up again, and he won’t take odd thousands every now and then, I asked.”

Stanhope got up, walked over to the bar and made himself a drink without a hurry. He had recently moved away from whiskey and was instead drinking gin and tonic, which was what he mixed now. He didn’t offer Lewis anything, but not out of consideration for his struggle towards sensible drinking but because he never offered anyone anything. 

“The police are all up in our business because of those dead accountants of ours! We can’t make any suspicious financial moves before they let off,” Lewis said. “All they need is an excuse for a warrant and that’s that. With Bormann having showed his face like that I wouldn’t be surprised if they were applying for one already.” 

“There’s nothing for them there, in any books directly under any business with our name on it,” Stanhope scoffed, casting the issue aside.

“Dad. The police have been asking questions about Dick. They’ll pull him into this,” Lewis muttered. “And he’s starting to ask me questions too.”

Stanhope scoffed and took a heavy gulp out of his drink. “I knew that man wasn’t any good for you. This is where that’s led us.”

Lewis clicked his tongue and refused to comment. He knew very well what his father thought of his marriage and he didn’t need to hear any of it spoken out loud, not now or any other time. “He’s not going to like any of this,” he said.

“Then don’t tell him,” Stanhope said as if he was correcting some incredibly obvious mistake a small child had made. “Handle your client. He’s just going to have to wait and that’s that. Make him understand,” he listed impatiently, then emptied his glass in one swallow. He put the glass on the table and started to go through his pockets, eventually pulling out his checkbook. “And don’t let your spouse run his mouth and distract you. Here. Take him out to dinner somewhere, or whatever it is you do when you want him to quiet down.” He wrote a check of four hundred dollars, ripped it from the book and handed it to Lewis.

Lewis meekly accepted it, oddly reminded of his childhood birthdays. He resisted the urge to comment on the irony of getting relationship advice from a man whose wife had taken her que to be quiet and discreet so seriously she had removed herself from his life altogether. 

“Now, if there’s nothing else, there’s work to be done,” Stanhope said, and Lewis took the hint to leave, the check squeezed tightly inside his fist. 

He wasn’t at all sure if he had actually benefitted from the visit at all. Everything his father had said Lewis had either already thought of or could have come up himself, and now all he had was a check for four hundred dollars that he didn’t need with a message to bribe his husband. 

By the time Lewis got down to the lobby he had mulled over the meeting enough to be angry again. He had asked how to handle Bormann and the police, not his husband. Two out of those three Stanhope might have actual ground to comment on, one he definitely didn’t. 

On the street he waved down a cab, climbed into the backseat and told the driver to take him back up north by the river. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do at the office, but that was a problem for the time he got there. 

Lewis wondered how Stanhope would have handled a client like Bormann. He wondered if this was about age or maybe the lack of network connections, but even considering the egos of people in charge of any business, it all eventually boiled down to money. Lewis was well aware that career criminals usually leveraged situations like this with more money or threats of violence, and if those failed, then with going through with the violence. 

The more Lewis thought about it, the more useless his visit started to feel. He had the money but it couldn’t be moved with the police hovering so close, and the total absolution of violence had always been the main principal of their family business. They just did business. Money in the free economy was neutral, a notion grandfather had passed down and that Stanhope had perfected into a philosophy. 

There was nothing to do. The situation was still at a stalemate, and by the time Lewis got to work he hated Stanhope and Bormann in equal amounts. 

He had gone all that way to see his father only to have his marriage insulted, nothing more. There was another situation at a perfect dead-end: Stanhope had made it very clear that he disapproved of Lewis’ marriage to Dick, Lewis had made it equally clear that he was going to stay in said union, and Dick knew fully well that his father-in-law hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, only he was too polite to actually bring it up. 

Really, the only thing Dick had ever said about Stanhope and his attitude was that he had asked for his blessing before their wedding and that for him that was all there was to it. Lewis only wished he could be like that and just finish things. 

*

Stanhope Nixon was making his way through the garden of his holiday villa in Spain and his life couldn’t have been much brighter. 

He was safely in Europe, his finances and taxes were in order, his hires were cleaning up the latest scuffle with the police and the charges had already been dropped. His daughter had just delivered him a healthy grandson, and even his oldest child Lewis had stopped kicking and screaming and returned home from his little run-away trip. 

He admired his garden in the warm summer sunlight, then made his way inside. The white stone the villa was made of kept the inside cool even when the merciless southern sun scourged the earth, and it made simply stepping inside feel pleasant. 

He had just put away his hat and the light linen coat when his assistant ran to meet him, stiletto-heels clacking against the stone floors. 

“Mr. Nixon, sir!” she started, visibly anxious, “I’m sorry, sir, but you have a visitor.” She looked rigid and shaky in her tight jacket and pencil skirt, and pale like she had seen a ghost. 

“A visitor?” Stanhope snapped. “Haven’t I specifically said that I don’t ever want to be disturbed in my own home?”

Having been his assistant for nearly ten years now, Betty Karlsson didn’t even flinch at his tone, just wrung her hands a bit and squeezed her calendar. “I know, sir, I am sorry, but he just came in! He didn’t ask me anything, just announced himself and said that he would wait for you. He said it was a family matter.” 

Stanhope frowned. “Is it my cousin? Or Blanche’s husband?”

Karlsson shook her head. “No, sir. He said that you have business to discuss. He’s in your office.”

“Who is it? Spit it out, girl!” 

“Ah…” Karlsson fumbled again, “he told me his name was Mr. Winters. He’s in your office now. Has been for the past hour.” 

Stanhope clenched his jaw and thought furiously for a minute. He considered just turning around and walking out, but then again Winters was already here. He considered calling the security but didn’t see what the ultimate point in that would be, especially if said security was truly needed it would just make a mess. 

Besides, Stanhope Nixon wasn’t in the habit of backing down when being challenged, and he already didn’t like being this rudely intruded upon.

“A family matter, huh,” he said after a moment of contemplative silence. 

Karlsson nodded. 

“Well let’s take care of that, then,” Stanhope grumbled, more to himself than to his assistant, and made his way upstairs and into his office. 

As soon as he opened the door, he saw his visitor in the room. Winters was sitting in the chair before Stanhope’s desk and probably had been for the past hour, but as soon as Stanhope stepped inside, he stood up. 

“Mr. Nixon,” Winters said as a greeting. His tone was professional and unreadable. 

Stanhope closed the door behind him. “Mr. Winters,” he replied. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the man, he made his way behind his desk, pulled out his chair and carefully sat down. Winters returned his gaze the entire time and sat back down when he did.

“What brings me this pleasure?” Stanhope asked.

Winters regarded him with his falsely kind and polite demeanor in his place, the same one he always projected, but Stanhope saw right through it. His eyes were emotionless. 

“I am here to discuss some important matters with you,” Winters said.

Stanhope forced himself to look directly at the man and spread his arms, faking cluelessness. “Our business has come to an end, Mr. Winters. I paid you and your contract is no longer viable. It was my understanding that everything went as planned.”

“It did, yes,” Winters politely agreed, “It was a pleasure doing business with you. But I’m afraid not everything went exactly according to plan. I am here to discuss matters concerning your son Lewis.” 

Stanhope felt a prickle of irritation along with worry. He should have known something would go wrong. And just when he had thought that Lewis had been set straight and aimed towards the family business, too! He forced his frustration about his son down and continued the clueless act. “I don’t understand what my son has to do with you anymore. It has been over a year since your contract finished, Mr. Winters., and your companionship is no longer needed. Why are you here now? We could have discussed anything you were unhappy with back then.” 

Winters quirked half a smile that disappeared almost immediately. “I am not unhappy about anything. Quite the contrary, actually. I am here to ask for your blessing to marry your son.” 

For a long while Stanhope could only stare at him. Whatever he had thought, whatever he had prepared for, this was absolutely not it. He was rendered speechless and the wheels in his head jammed. He couldn’t see the point in any of this, there was no logic, the words that had just come out of this washed-up soldier’s mouth made no sense.

“Excuse me?” he managed to finally choke out. His voice was thin and strained. 

Winters just looked back at him, disgustingly composed and calm, that layer of kindness still there, unfazed. “I want to marry your son, sir. I am here to ask for your blessing for our union,” he parroted. 

He said it like it was simple, like this was normal and like he had the right to come into his house with requests like that, and suddenly Stanhope felt a flare of rage at the insolence. With great effort he held it back, at least for now when he was still struggling to understand this all. 

“_You_ want to marry my son?” he repeated, like struggling to comprehend an inappropriate joke. “You. You want to _marry_ Lewis?”

Winters, the bastard, simply nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s what I wish for.” 

A cold bark of laughter tore itself from Stanhope’s throat. “No. No, that’s not going to happen. I won’t allow it. Lewis won’t just get married to someone like you and throw his family name to dirt and end this line!”

Winters’ cold blue eyes stared back at him, the man still unfazed. Not even his shoulders had tensed up. “With all due respect, Lewis already has a child, as does his sister. The legacy of your family is not in any danger, sir. Additionally, we have already discussed the issue of last names and we both will keep our own. I would become your son-in-law, but I won’t take Lewis’ name.”

Stanhope squeezed his hands into fists. The idea of the man before him marrying his eldest child and only son was in itself ridiculous, and he would have laughed if Winters didn’t look so serious when he presented this apparently already planned affair. And it was ridiculous. Lewis wasn’t exactly the son he had hoped for, but when he wasn’t moping around he was actually passably smart and could manage the family business, and most importantly, he was a Nixon. He was from their proud family line, and he was supposed to marry someone his equal, not some country boy with disgusting red hair and freckles, barely past his mid-twenties and with nothing to his name. 

“And what would you even offer to my son? What’s the point of this so-called marriage?” Stanhope threw at him. The truths about Winters’ background and status were on the tip of his tongue already, but the harsh stare from the man made him swallow them down. It was too early to blow up like that when he didn’t understand the game they were playing and with its stakes so high. 

Winters didn’t hesitate this time either before answering: “It’s true that I don’t have money or status to offer, but Lewis has plenty of those already. I will offer him my loyalty, love and company, I will be his family, and I will go where he goes. For the rest of his life.”

There was a horrible weight in those words and in the way Winters stressed them. Stanhope got up from his chair and walked to the bar. He picked a clean glass and sloshed a generous amount of whiskey in it from a crystal bottle, then walked back to his chair. 

Winters hadn't even moved. The man seemed to be completely immune to Stanhope's usual tricks, he didn't mind being kept waiting or in silence, he simply endured it all with a damn smile on his face and kept pushing. 

Stanhope tried another way. “And what do you want of Lewis? I know my boy, and I can tell you that he's not the committing sort. His first marriage was a failure from the start, everyone knew that. Hell, I thank God in my evening prayers for that kid he managed to produce.”

Winters still met his gaze head-on. Nothing seemed to shake him, and nothing Stanhope could come up with seemed to hit anywhere even close to whatever it was he really had in mind. 

“I know Lewis, sir. And I'm sure we both want to do this. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure of it. Lewis was the one to propose to me. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes,” Winters explained.

_Jesus_. Stanhope was starting to believe this ridiculous farce. He never should have let Lewis out of his sight, he should have known something like this would happen. He could just about picture it, Lewis begging like dog for this useless, worthless man before him to marry him. It was a despicable picture. Lewis had always been lonely, but to even imagine that it had made him that vulnerable for something like _Winters_... He almost couldn’t stand it. 

Stanhope took a mouthful of whiskey and tried to swallow his anger down with it, even as he glared at Winters. In that moment he hated every inch of that filthy redneck excuse of a man, and he dreaded to even think what he was doing to his son. 

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand that easily confident, unwavering stare of Winters' eyes, his smug smile and this outright insult to his family, _his blood_.

Stanhope was done with pretending. He slammed the glass down and cut through the nonsense, straight to the meat. He was going for his domineering attitude that made weaker men quiver in their boots and avert their gazes, but with the issue at hand there was more fear than anger even in him. He loathed himself for his weakness almost as much as he loathed this freckled boy threatening his image and empire before him. 

“What do you want? What is the real meaning of this? If it’s money, then just name your price and back off from my son!”

“This is not about money.”

“Of course it is, in our world everything is! Just name a price. Anything. I’ll pay up in any form you want it, when you want it and where you want it. Just leave my only son alone!”

“No.” It was a blunt refusal, and despite Winters' soft voice there was something absolute in his tone. Something that yielded no ground for arguing.

Stanhope felt his act deflating and he slumped in his chair. The burst of anger refused to carry him any further, and suddenly he felt tired. More than that, he felt old. He rubbed his temples and sighed.

Winters spoke up: “I'm going to marry him, sir, whether you like it or not. I am here simply out of respect and for the sake of manners, and to show that I am serious about Lew.”

One last straw Stanhope had, and he grasped that. “I could pay you in gold if you wanted to.”

“Lewis is more valuable to me.” 

Stanhope couldn't muster up any more fighting spirit. He felt like he was being robbed; of what, he wasn't sure, but it was the insult was deep and bloody. “Why? Why would you do this? You should be long gone by now.”

“We are in love.” 

Stanhope had to laugh at that. The sound that came out was stuffy and mean but not completely without humour. To think that something like love was even brought up here was absurd, but he was still temped to believe it. At least that Lewis thought that whatever they had was love, and maybe even Winters had fooled himself into believing that. Such children they were. 

“My son... with someone like _you_.” Even in defeat Stanhope still spat out those words.

“Lew doesn't care,” Winters said, now something almost like petulance in his voice., making him sound his age. “And I'll have him as he is too.”

Stanhope downed the rest of his whiskey and slammed the glass back on the desk. “Fine! Take him, then!”

Winters stayed put, completely silent for a moment. The line of his shoulders had finally tensed. “May I take that as a blessing then, sir?” 

Stanhope glared at him. “You have my goddamn blessing to take each other straight to hell.” 

Winters gave him a smug, serene smile. “Thank you.” And with that he walked out without so much as a glance behind him. 

Stanhope Nixon got up only fill his glass.


	6. Wanted: Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Academia and NaNoWriMo own me at the moment, but I finally managed to find the time to edit a new chapter. While writing this I've really grown attatched to Lipton - more than I already was, I mean. 
> 
> Thank you for all comments and kudos you have left!

It had been a huge amount of work to first search for unsolved murders and then narrow them down to those that might have been committed by their hitman, and even after that it had left a staggering pile of cases. Lipton discovered quickly how hard it was to close a murder case, unless it was a case of an abusive husband murdering his wife or a family member trying to hurry up the inheritance. The less impulsive perpetrators knew by now to wear gloves and wipe down their guns, and even with DNA sweeps and legally registered guns on their or their friend’s names, as long as everyone kept their mouths shut and they got a good lawyer, it wasn’t going to be clear cut.

After narrowing down his search, Lipton had called every lead detective of each case to ask for more information, and finally after hours and hours of work, he had ten cases on his desk. They were unsolved murders from all over the country, all of them suspected to be professional hits, all of them somehow tied to organized crime, and all of them with minimal forensic evidence. 

Lipton had requested a copy of the case file from each, and on the course of a few days ten packages had arrived with all their paperwork and crime scene photos, and with them Lipton got confirmation of two things: The killer was almost certainly the same, and each scene was equally brutal. 

There was so much to go through that Lipton ended up taking the files home with him, and later that night he stood in his kitchen with the crime scene photos spread on his dining table. Looking at them he decided he needed a drink, and a moment later with a beer bottle in hand he steeled himself against the violence in the pictures and started to look for a pattern.

Every kill was violent and efficient, but with a larger sample two consistent methods rose: Either a knife or a gun. With knives, the weapon seemed to be either an ordinary kitchen knife usually acquired from the victim’s home, or a standard issue hunting knife the killer had most likely brought and taken with him. With the victims who had been shot, the gun used was always a small-caliber semi-automatic handgun, and he fired three shots: Two in the chest and one in the head. 

He killed his targets anywhere: In their homes, in motel rooms, in their cars, in a public toilet of a bar, at a gas station, in a public park. 

He was never seen, never heard, never left even a hair on the floor or half a fingerprint. There was barely ever even a struggle. 

Lipton stared at the pictures. A man sprawled on a motel room carpet with three bullet holes in him, a splatter of blood in the wall behind him; An elderly man in a suit stabbed neatly in the chest and in the left eye slumped down on his own couch; A couple shot in their car with six exactly placed shots in a pattern in the windshield; Two police officers dumped in a ditch on the side of a road, both shot with the other one’s service weapon that was left on the scene; A young man with a slit throat left in a toilet stool, eyes wide in surprise and one hand still caught in the collar of his shirt like he hadn’t had the time to realize his throat was cut open before he bled out. 

He started to feel weak in his limbs when he looked at the coldly documented violence and for a moment imagined himself like that, shot in the chest with shards of broken glass piercing his face, arm and thigh. 

He took a deep swig of the beer and forcibly banished the mental image. There was no use lingering on it, especially considering that there were all these people who were already dead and that his team had a chance to catch the killer. He forced himself to get back to work and go through the notes the detectives had sent with their cases.

There were yellow post-it notes on some of the victims’ pictures: Witness. Informant. Drug trafficker. Investigated and prepared for a major drug bust. A pattern was starting to emerge despite the lack of evidence on the killer himself, and Lipton opened a fresh page on a notebook and started to list the information he had.

The very next morning after only a few hours of light sleep Lipton came to work with ten large files and his own notes, dropped it all in the middle of his desk and declared: “I have a working profile on our killer.”

Toye and Guarnere both had a file of old reports on the Nixon case to go with their morning coffee, and both looked intrigued. Toye flipped his file shut and curiously eyed the pile Lipton had dropped in front of them. “Yeah? How detailed a profile?” 

“I could build a Linkedin profile for this guy,” Lipton said, taking his notebook and showing the two others an organized sheet with his notes and conclusions. “His scenes are messy, yes, but not intentionally. He’s quick and efficient, and probably has had a lot of practice even before he got on our radar because there’s no distinguishing a learning curve of any kind. He always uses either a knife or a gun, probably depending on which is preferable. I think he prefers guns, but if he needs to be discreet like at someone’s home or a crowded public place, he’ll go for a knife. 

“And then there’s the connection between most of the cases: They all have ties to organized crime. This hitman takes out people who are troublesome to criminal organizations and their operations. I think that’s where this guy finds work. Granted, some of these cases were never connected to anything of that nature, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Guarnere reached for the pile of files in the middle of the desk and flicked through some. “Where did you find all this?” he asked.

“I did a database search on unsolved murders that were similar those three of ours and then started to call through lead detectives for details and then asked to their case files. I found ten cases that could be our guy.” 

“Jesus… Do you sleep at all?” Guarnere asked half-jokingly and grabbed the top file while Toye snatched the next one.

“Of course I do,” Lipton replied and didn’t mention that he was powering through the day with mainly caffeine alone. 

Not only did the files hold a lot of information about the victims, they also had all the police work already done on the cases. Ten attempts to catch the killer had been in vain, but on three of them the investigators had used their contacts in organized crime to dig up on their hired killer, with some results. In two cases there was even confirmation that the killer was indeed a hitman hired from outside the organization, but even though the sources were confirmed and reliable, they had nothing more than that. Even the payments had been made in cash. 

Toye clicked his tongue as he browsed the files. “No suspects. No fingerprints. No DNA profile. No witnesses,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, buddy, but I don’t think these will help us.”

Lipton blinked. “How come? We know so much more about him now.”

Toye smiled awkwardly and didn’t answer right away like he meant to soften the blow of bad news. “Yeah, I know. But the truth is that building a profile of the killer isn’t really that helpful. Yeah, we know that he’s an efficient, remorseless murderer who’s had plenty of practice, but we knew that already. It’s pretty much given in the case of a master hitman.”

Lipton took a long swig on coffee. He had to admit that Toye had a point, and having never worked homicide before Lipton respected his expertise, but still it felt unbelievable to say that ten thick casefiles didn’t have anything useful in them.

Guarnere was flipping through the files in any case. “What we know is that there are plenty of police officers around the country willing to help us with the case and who, if we succeed, will buy us drinks for the rest of our lives,” he jokingly said, and Toye huffed with amusement. Guarnere was still grinning to his partner when tossed the file he had finished reading and picket up another, but just one look to its contents made his smile vanish. 

“Especially San Francisco PD,” he solemnly said, “they lost two of their guys to the bastard.” He picked up the photograph of two victims in their own murder scene and showed it to them.

Lipton grimaced internally. They were looking at the two police officers murdered and dumped into a ditch, and Lipton regretted that he hadn’t warned the others about it. It was always hard to see their colleagues in blue killed, even though Lipton privately thought that dying in the line of duty wasn’t a bloody insult to the whole law enforcement institute like he knew most cops took it. 

“A fuckin cop killer, huh,” Toye grunted, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Who were they? Why were they killed?”

“Uh, wait a sec,” Guarnere said and went back to reading the file. It was thicker than the others with a lot more work documented, probably because the department had taken the murder of two of their own personally. Lipton knew the case well too, having spent hours on the phone with various officers at San Francisco PD who were all just as eager to share everything with him now that there was a chance to bring the murderer to justice. Lipton felt a twinkle of guilt now, thinking how all of that digging through such hard and painful memories may have been for nothing after all. 

“Ah, here,” Guarnere quipped, “they were working in Narcotics. They had been building a large case against a drug trafficking ring from Japan importing their stuff to America. They were apparently getting close.” 

“Fucking hell,” Toye cussed in a bland voice. “We really need to bag this guy. You know what, I’m gonna go and speak with some of my pals working organized crime. They might have some snitches on their payroll whom we could ask some questions.” 

“You do that. We’ll keep going through these, just in case,” Lipton said.

It was a day full of cross-referencing. When Buck arrived, he too wanted to go through every single of the casefiles Lipton had brought and speak with the lead detective in San Francisco himself. He just glanced through Lipton’s notes and then hurried to make his own. 

By the lunch hour Lipton was exhausted and irritated. He knew it was because of the sleepless night before, and that it was no one’s fault but his own having picked useless work over rest, but that didn’t cheer him up a bit. He remembered all over again why he needed to have his lunch hour alone and was glad he guarded his private time, since no one asked him when he got up and started towards the elevators. 

On his way to the cafeteria he was greeted a few times in passing and then stopped by Detective Rogers from White-Collar who reminded him of the upcoming birthday of Detective Alvarez that they all hoped Lipton would help plan. Lipton automatically agreed. While they were talking and waiting for the elevator, Detective Collins stopped to remind Lipton that he had missed his turn to buy coffee for the breakroom at their floor, for which he apologized. 

They chatted casually for a moment while they waited and then when they stepped into the elevator. Collins had been engaged for six months and he and his fiancée were both only halfway done with the wedding plans but equally fed up with them, and the latest development was the great surprise of how expensive wedding dressed were and how long ordering one took. 

Rogers laughed and told them she had been married in the same dress as her mother, managing to both be traditional and save money. Collins replied he wished he had known that that was an option, then turned to Lipton and told him that if he ever got engaged he’d better make sure to get his bride a second-hand dress, which Lipton promised to do.

It had been just a little over a month, and already it felt like Lipton had never been gone at all.

It was a soup day at the cafeteria. Lipton was too tired to care what type of a soup, he just filled a bowl, ordered more coffee to go with it and took a small table in the far-off corner to himself. It was a relief to sit down and take a breath, knowing that no one would even notice him in the corner let alone bother him while he ate. 

“Excuse me, is this seat free?”

Lipton tensed up and lifted his gaze, then immediately relaxed when he saw Speirs. Lipton didn’t think he’d be good company right then and felt embarrassed that Speirs had caught him during such a bad day, but he didn’t think he’d mind his company. Apparently he waited too long to process the thought into words, because Speirs shifted away from the small table with an apologetic smile on his lips. 

“Sorry, I know you prefer to be alone when you eat, but I saw you here from the food line and just thought…” Speirs paused and seemed to change his mind about something, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just leave you to it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lipton hurried to say before the other man had the chance to take more than a single step away. “Please, sit down. It’s nice of you to join me.”

Speirs studied him for a moment like trying to see if he really meant what he said or was he just being polite. He seemed to be happy with the result because he took the seat opposite of Lipton without any more fuss. He had a bowl of soup and two halves of a bun on his tray. He buttered the bread first and took a good glance at Lipton while at it. He tilted his head. 

“How are you?” he asked.

Lipton had his mouth full when Speirs asked the question, and something in his tone gave him a pause. Speirs didn’t talk about nothing or say things he didn’t mean, and the deep, serious tone of his voice made the simple small talk phrase sound like genuine concern. 

Lipton swallowed. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said. 

Speirs wasn’t satisfied with the reply. “I’m only asking because you look like something’s the matter.”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lipton insisted. Speirs was looking him straight in the eye, far longer than felt comfortable, but he also wasn’t about to press him. But he didn’t nod or pick another subject either, just looked at him and tore a piece off his bun.

Lipton let out a sigh that made him feel more tired than he already was. “I’m fine,” he said again, “it’s just been a long day and it’s not even over yet. I’ve wasted time on cold leads.” 

“Sorry to hear that,” Speirs said, just as meaningfully as before. He picked up a spoon and started on his soup. “You look like things haven’t been going your way today. Not that you look tired, but somehow sad.”

“Sad?” Lipton asked. “I think I just look tired. I never look sad.”

Speirs raised his brows at him, but he was busy eating and didn’t say anything right away. Only now Lipton noticed that the soup served today was red. 

“Sadness makes people look tired,” Speirs said when his mouth was empty. “It’s a different kind of tired than from a few sleepless nights.”

“Is that why you came to sit with me?” Lipton asked, sharp like the edge of glass. He didn’t know what to make of what Speirs had said. His words made him feel a slightly unpleasant mixture of pitied and exposed.

“No, I came to sit with you because I wanted to sit with you,” Speirs replied easily, then took another long look at Lipton. “Did I insult you by calling you sad-looking?”

Lipton didn’t have a comment, just a vague shake of his head.

Speirs regarded him and weighed his reaction with keen interest. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s not ugly or pitiful either,” he said. “That’s just life, and it doesn’t make you any less deserving of company.” 

There was that directness about Speirs that Lipton imagined many people found uncomfortable. He thought he might have been one of them too if they hadn’t been alone at their table, and since they were, he could let himself enjoy it. He smiled. 

Speirs smiled back. “We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.” 

Lipton relaxed. The soup was starting to warm him up from the inside, kinder than the scourging coffee. “Thanks.”

It was a long haul still before the day was over. The clock was ticking close to seven and their overtime quota was just about up when Toye glanced at the time, groaned and stretched and got up from Lipton's desk chair that he had been hogging. 

“Should we call it a day?” he suggested. “We're not getting anything more done today, and it's late.”

The three other detectives glanced at the clock as well and agreed. Buck got up from his chair, Guarnere hopped down from his desk, and Lipton packed the markers away before starting to toss their takeaway coffee cups and take-out boxes into the trash. Into the bin went five paper cups and a box of Chinese that had some scraps still in them.

“Hey! Lip! I was eating that!” Guarnere complained as the cold leftovers of his lunch went into the trash.

Lipton shrugged at him, not sorry at all. “Not at my desk you aren’t. You should have taken that into the fridge anyway, it's gone dry and bad by now.” 

“It was still edible,” Guarnere argued, but more for the sake of arguing than any real annoyance. He threw one last wistful glance at the bin before clicking his tongue and letting the matter go. 

Toye had finished putting the case work back in order and rubbed the back of his neck. “You guys wanna go and grab a drink or something?” he suggested offhandedly. 

“Yeah, sure! One drink,” Buck immediately agreed, lightening up. 

“I'm in,” Guarnere said.

Lipton frowned. “It's only Wednesday,” he noted.

“So?” came three voices in unison. 

Lipton gave them all a pointed look and reluctant smile. “It means we have work tomorrow morning, which in turn means we need to get up early too.”

“Oh come on, Lip! One drink,” Buck coaxed him. He had already put his desk in the semi-order he maintained and gotten his coat on, and he threw an arm around Lipton's shoulders to give him a brotherly shake. 

“Yeah, loosen up a little. It's been a while,” Toye joined in the effort. “Join us single men and that one lousy husband.” 

“I ain't commanded by no woman,” Guarnere chuckled in a mock Southern accent while simultaneously undermining his posturing by focusing on his phone. Judging by his goofy smile he was texting Frannie, who was the only one who earned a look like that from him. 

“Yeah, sure,” Toye said with an eyeroll, turning his attention back to Lipton. “Come on, one drink. There's a nice bar down the block, no crowds or noise or nothing. You'll be glad that you came, and Mr. Happily-Married over there will leave early anyway, so it's really gonna be just one drink.” 

Buck gave Lipton one more jostle before letting go and allowing Lipton to gather his stuff and put a coat on. 

Finally, Lipton gave in under the pressure. “Well fine then. I'll come out with you. Let's make it a social event.” 

This caused a round of cheers in a group, and quietly in his mind Lipton made a note to go out with his friends more often since it was apparently a special occasion when he did. Together they packed the rest of the things and cleared Buck's and Lipton's desks as well as the whiteboard they had been using, and then made their way towards the elevators. 

“Are the guys from the cyberunit coming?” Toye asked. 

“Nah, they were called in for a night shift. They'll probably close a case sometime soon, so they'll be working extra for a while. Babe said something about 'a honeypot' working, and I think that's good,” Guarnere summed up. “But that's a no for Babe, George and Frank. So it's just us, tall and buff fellas tonight.”

It was easy to laugh when that the butts of the joke were not there to defend themselves, but it also meant no hearty banter, and so as a group they focused on a new target. 

“Seriously though, Lip, it's so good of you to join us for once,” Buck said. His tone was innocent, but Lipton was still immediately on his guard. 

“Yeah? What makes you think this is a special occasion? We see each other every day,” Lipton remarked. 

Buck shrugged. “Well, it's just that... You're not a very out-going guy, that's all. Which is fine, but you're a bit... Well...” Slowly a teasing tone was creeping into his voice, and others picked up on it soon enough. Lipton didn't need to look at the other two to see the light of mischief in their eyes, and so he braced himself for what was coming.

“He means you're a bit boring, buddy,” Toye finished dryly. 

Buck snapped his fingers. “That's exactly the word!” 

Lipton rolled his eyes. “I’m very content with my life, thank you.” 

Guarnere chuckled. “Jesus, that must be an illness of some sort. You should really re-evaluate where the bar is set on that one.” 

“Yeah, there's something missing from your life, Lip,” Buck added, mock serious.

Lipton knew already where this was going, but still humored them. After all, resisting would be futile, and he was outnumbered. “And what would that be?”

“Love,” Guarnere replied immediately.

Lipton closed his eyes for a second. “Don't even start.” 

Which naturally meant that all three of them started. Subconsciously Lipton lifted his coat collar up to shield himself from his prying friends. 

Buck shoved him playfully on the side and flashed him a smile that must have made all the cheerleaders’ hearts skip when he was still playing football in UCLA. “Come one, buddy! You deserve some loving in your life. You don’t have to be the lone wolf type of a cop forever!”

Toye by his side and joined in on the teasing with an understated smile. “Yeah, Lip. Listen to your friends! You’re a decent-looking fella with an interesting job, I’m sure you’ve got game. You just have to get out there and make some effort.”

Lipton clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “You’re making dating sound like job-hunting. Which I hate.”

Guarnere barked a laugh. “Think about it! Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to bring along to parties and family outings and such? Now you’re always stuck with the kids.”

Lipton tugged at the collar of his coat a bit more and hit the elevator button even though it had already been pressed. “I don’t think I’d be the type. To bring someone, I mean,” he muttered awkwardly. 

It was Toye’s turn to bump shoulders with him. “You could be, with just a bit of effort,” he said. “You should try dating apps. Isn’t there that one that’s especially for your lot? Grindr, is it?”

Lipton groaned. “The entire precinct doesn’t need to hear that,” he said quietly and shoved Toye back. He glanced around them, but the couple of people waiting for an elevator with them weren’t from their department and didn’t seem to be listening to their conversation. Lipton put his hands in his pockets, nervously turning his ID in his hand, and pushed his shoulders up. “Besides, that’s not really a dating app. It’s for… uh, more casual encounters,” he added.

Buck laughed out loud and slapped him on the back. “Oh, there’s no need to be so coy, my friend! We’ve all been around. Besides, maybe some casual fun wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you, huh?”

The elevator arrived with a ding and the doors slid open. They had lingered for so long that they had missed the shift change, meaning they got the entire elevator to themselves. They stepped in, pushed the button for the lobby, and down they went. 

He knew the others wouldn’t have believed him, but Lipton had considered casual dating and hookups. He had turned the idea over in his mind and tried to imagine his life like that, fun and exciting and explorative, but it never felt like that for him. The idea of chasing partners for casual sex didn’t frighten or disgust him, but it did feel empty somehow. It wasn’t what he was missing.

He shrugged at his thoughts and said aloud: “I’m just not a casual person.”

Guarnere made an agreeing noise, the only one of them who was married. He and Frannie had been married almost six years by then, been together for eight, and known each other since high school. From what Lipton knew of Guarnere, he had been a wild one as a teen and especially in college, but after starting to go steady with Frannie a part of him had calmed down. “Hey, not everyone is, and there are better things!” Guarnere said. “But seriously, you gotta go and meet people. Your future husband is not just going to walk up to you one day, you got to go out and let people know you’re available.”

“Guarno’s right,” Toye said. “Besides, it’s not like it’s such a long game for you people. Aren’t your second dates moving in together and the third ones the wedding?”

Even Lipton had to chuckle at that, but perhaps for a different reason than intended. “That’s a lesbian stereotype and doesn’t apply to me.”

They arrived at the lobby, and by then they were arguing about proper dating etiquette and trying to stereotype every single subcategory of people they could come up with. The noise level was steadily on the rise, and when they walked by the front desk they were fussing so much that it took them a while to find their IDs, and the fumbling along with the noise earned them harsh looks from the personnel manning the desk.

Toye got past the gates first while Buck and Guarnere had a brief scuffle over who got to go next, and Lipton waited patiently for his turn. He was about to throw an apologetic look to the workers manning the front desk, but his politeness turned into pleasant surprise when he noticed that Speirs was still working. Looking considerably less pleased, Speirs was staring holes into the two supposed grown-ups who couldn’t figure out a simple gate. 

“Good evening, detectives,” Speirs said icily when they finally cleared it. 

Despite everything, Lipton was smiling when he swiped his own ID and gave Speirs a look he hoped would earn their whole group forgiveness. “Hello, Speirs. Sorry about that. Good night,” he said.

Speirs’ features softened slightly and he returned the smile. “Good night, Detective Lipton,” he said softly back with a nod. 

For a second longer their eyes lingered even though Lipton was moving past, and one last quirk of lips later he turned away and joined his friends. 

They were quiet until they stepped outside and walked down the stairs to the street. Suddenly Buck let out a suggestive hum and threw Lipton a matching smile that made him frown in return. 

“Detective Lipton, huh?” Buck said with a grin. “The rest of us are just detectives. How come you get a name?”

Lipton could only shrug. He hadn’t even noticed. “I asked him to help me with our case a month ago. We have lunch together from time to time,” he said.

If he had thought that would be a satisfying answer, he was wrong. Guarnere and Toye exchanged a conspiring look, then turned to give him a look like they knew something he didn’t. Buck raised his brow and his smile widened into a smirk.

“Lunch, you say?” he asked, feigning innocence. “You hear that, fellas?”

“Lip’s private time,” Toye answered. 

“Now shared with a strange man,” Guarnere added. 

“Oh my.” 

Lipton rolled his eyes again. “Oh, shut it, all of you! It’s just lunch sometimes. It’s not like that with Ron!”

He got a chorus of woos and low whistles for his troubles.

“’Ron’, huh?” Toye repeated, his voice low and deceivingly neutral. “Buck is right. Oh my.” 

“Workplace romance! If you went out with the front desk manager, that would almost be like dating the secretary,” Guarnere chipped.

“And it would have everything Lip loves: Paperwork and regular hours,” Buck added. 

“Shut up, boys,” Lipton said when wasn’t able to think of a better put-down. 

He wanted to say that it wasn’t like that with Speirs, that they weren’t like that and that Speirs probably wouldn’t even be interested in him anyway, not that he planned to ask. He wanted to say that he didn’t think about Speirs like that, that he wasn’t his type and that he was just a work acquaintance he had happened to chat with by accident, and that he didn’t have time for a relationship anyway.

None of it was particularly funny and thus didn’t make for a witty comeback, and Lipton had a feeling that if he tried to vocalize any of his thoughts, they would sound like excuses. 

Luckily for him, his friends seemed to sense that the joke had run its course and any further needling would only annoy him, and the matter was dropped. Still, Lipton felt like he was really going to need that one drink when they’d finally got the bar two blocks down the street.


	7. The mysterious Mr. Nixon-Winters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on the previous chapters. 
> 
> It's time for an update, and I'm sure everyone wants to meet Dick already, so let's get to it.

Lipton and Buck were nearing a point where they had to admit they had hit a dead-end. Switching their attention from the invisible man to the one right in front of them had not helped them along.

Buck was browsing through their newest folder from the pile of several like it with a mug of coffee in hand, shaking his head. “Dammit. I can’t believe we have all of this, and it all amounts to basically nothing,” he said.

Lipton could only agree. He was staring at the whiteboard they had by their desks and trying to make sense of Nixon’s social circle. “How can a man have so many friends, but still virtually none?” he said. There were countless people surrounding Lewis Nixon, and yet no one had anything on him. There was no point in even following the money, there was too much of it in various forma going to every direction. 

Buck snorted and glanced up at the map of social relations. “The man must have a Christmas card list like a small town’s phonebook, but no real ties to anyone. I got to say, Lip, I don’t envy the rich and powerful in that.” 

Lipton huffed a laugh and sat on the edge of his desk. “So you’re picking a tiny flat near the subway tracks over a penthouse just for true friendship, huh, Buck?” 

Buck joined in the chuckle. He flipped the folder shut and threw on the desk next to the rest useless things. “Any day, Lip, any day. Besides, you can’t fault a working man for rejoicing that this bastard is at least lonely as hell, can you?” 

“No, I can’t.” 

They spent a good while staring at their mapped out social relations around the Nixon family, trying to see something useful. Stanhope Nixon was still the head of the corporation, all but untouchable, currently out of the country and isolated from the rest. Blanche Nixon was living in another state and though she was on friendly terms with her brother and likely in the know about the family business, she was outside of their jurisdiction and their precinct couldn’t touch her. 

Lewis Nixon was in the center of it all, seemingly connected to everyone and everything, but on a closer look completely aloof. It seemed that the man’s true talent was to let other socialites believe they were friends and that they knew him, while in actuality he remained a complete mystery. 

Buck gestured at the whiteboard with his mug. “There’s barely anything here for us. No one knows him, no one knows his business, and everyone’s so eager to get money out of him that they don’t even care where it comes from.” He took a large gulp of coffee, his gaze going through the map of people and moving towards the center. “The only one we haven’t talked to yet is the spouse, and that poor guy seems to be the one most in the dark.” 

Lipton hummed in agreement. He had been staring at the photograph of Nixon’s husband as well and thinking about it. “Yeah. But I have to wonder… Just how in the dark _can_ he be? He’s literally right there, all the time.”

Buck frowned. “You think he might just be in denial?” 

Lipton made a noncommittal sound. He was thinking, even though all he had was theories and guesses, they could prove useful in getting them out of the slump. “Maybe… Or maybe he knows more than he thinks he does. And even if he’s not willing to help, he might be useful to us. Just think about it, Nixon wasn’t ever lacking in marriage prospects. With his name, face and money he could have married anyone, and from his own circles too. If anything, that would have been more sensible, and tons of guys like him just get a trophy wife who then moves to L.A. to live comfortably.” 

Lipton paused to check on his partner and saw that Buck was listening, intrigued. “If anything, Nixon marrying this guy is a completely nonsensical move. He’s a man of careful plans, he always has some goal in mind, and he exploits everything in his life. So what use is marrying a no name, no fortune, nobody Richard Winters from Pennsylvania?” 

Buck shrugged. “Sounds like true love to me, Lip. Or possibly like extortion or gold-digging. But mostly just love.” 

“Exactly. We just might be looking at the only weak spot in our guy’s defenses.” 

Buck gave a thoughtful nod while sipping his coffee. “So, what do you suggest?” 

“I think it’s a high time we have a word with Mr. Nixon-Winters.” 

The building Nixon lived in was tall and predictably fancy. Lipton and Compton had to park half a block away and walk, and both quietly noted how unsurprised the doorman was when they showed their badges and told that they needed to speak with one of the residents. Despite the shiny surface of the bright lobby, marble floors and tastefully engraved steel decorations, it was clear that at least some of residents didn’t get to live like this without some creative arrangements. 

The elevator was squeaky clean, not even the mirror sporting one single fingerprint, and it was lit with warm light-bulbs instead of the usual fluorescent lamps. 

Buck pushed his hands into his coat’s pockets as they traveled to the top floor. “I think I hate this guy a bit more, Lip.” 

Lipton chuckled. “I hear you.” 

The top floor had a short corridor with a chocolate brown carpet and one door. Lipton rang the doorbell while Buck readied his badge. 

It was a good few moments before there was any noise from the apartment. Faint footsteps approached the door, and then presumably someone looked through the peek hole. Lipton and Buck both raised their badges so they could be seen through it.

“CPD, detectives Lipton and Compton,” Lipton announced them. “Open the door, please.”

“Just one second,” answered a male voice from the other side of the door, and after a little rattle of a safety chain the door opened, revealing a tall red-headed man in washed-out jeans, a college jumper shirt and a dark green apron. He was smiling warmly at them.

“Afternoon. How can I help you?” he asked.

It was the man from their photographs, but not in a crisp suit or on Nixon’s arm at a charity ball or a gala. Meeting Richard Winters in person was an experience. He had a calm, strong energy about him, his homely clothes in stark contrast with the luxury around him, and there was a scent of earth and wind to him as if he had just been hiking and just gotten back. He didn’t look at all surprised or worried to see two detectives on his doorstep, but faced them both without batting an eye, a confident look in his blue eyes and a polite smile on his lips as if their visit was nothing more than a pleasant change of pace to his usual day. 

It took Lipton and Buck a moment to compose themselves again.

“Uh. Mr. Richard Winters?” Buck asked for formality’s sake.

“That’s me,” the man confirmed what they already knew, and judging by his patient tone he knew that they knew. Buck took a subtle note of the controlled demeanor of the man. He didn’t seem like a willfully ignorant gold-digger. 

“We were wondering if you could spare the time to have a little chat with us,” Lipton said. “We’d like to ask you a couple of questions. Nothing formal, and you aren’t in any trouble, but you might be able to assist us.”

Winters smiled his calm, polite smile and didn’t even hesitate before answering: “Of course. Would you like to come in and sit down?” 

“That would be wonderful, sir, thank you,” Lipton replied.

Winters opened the door wider and stepped back to let the detectives in. When he turned around to get out of their way, Lipton and Buck exchanged a surprised look between themselves. Neither hadn’t known what to expect, but having met Nixon they had both subconsciously expected his husband to be somehow his match, but in reality Winters wasn’t anything like him at all. 

“Please leave your shoes by the door,” Winters said. 

A bit baffled, Lipton and Buck did as they were told, and continued further inside on their socks. 

Winters was waiting for them just outside the hallway, taking his apron off and carefully folding it over his arm. “Thank you. It’s just that we’ve traveled a lot and Europeans take off their shoes, and we’ve found that it keeps the floors and carpets cleaner. And please excuse me, you caught me in the middle of gardening, so let me put this stuff aside and close the balcony.”

“Sure, sure, take your time, sir,” Buck said while trying to be subtle about looking around. 

The hallway had already been roomy even with a coat rack, a heavy mirror on the wall and a slender little table with a flower vase on it, but now they had stepped into the apartment itself. 

Whatever Nixon had paid for the penthouse, it had sure been worth it. The apartment had an open-floor plan, the arching ceiling supported by a few dark wooden columns instead of walls. The space had a living-room that was furnished with comfortable looking couches and low tables on thick rugs, modern in style but still classical enough to be homely. The other half towards the back was elevated slightly, three steps and a different colour palette signaling a new area with a dining table for eight. To the left was an open doorway that lead to the kitchen. The whole apartment bathed in light streaming in through the row of old-fashioned small-frame windows in the back wall, that also had a door to a wide balcony that had a full garden. 

In the living-room there were two large dogs lounging on the carpet and both of them perked up when they spotted guests, but neither bothered to get up. The glass doors to the balcony were cracked open, and near them outside were a few empty pots and a large bag of garden soil. 

Winters tossed the apron on top of the pots and closed the doors. He apologized for the bother, smiling a welcoming smile. 

“We can sit down in the kitchen, detectives. Would you like some coffee? I was just about to brew some,” he offered and gestured towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure,” Buck agreed, and after a glance towards Lipton they followed the man to the other room. 

The kitchen was big and bathed in natural light like the rest of the penthouse. It was a charming room with coffee brown ornate cabinets, counter tops of pale stone and a kitchen isle that had enough space to act as a counter with tall four chairs by it. There was a bowl of fresh fruit and a set of small clay pots with herbs growing in them by the window.

Winters gestured the detectives to sit down before starting to open cabinets and pull open drawers to fetch what he needed. 

“So, detectives, anytime you're ready,” he casually urged them while he was setting the table with china and silver spoons. 

Lipton already had a notebook on the counter and a pen in hand and he was browsing for an empty page. “Aren't you curious what our business is about? You haven't asked us,” he pointed out.

Winters had gotten a tin of fresh coffee beans and was measuring them into a coffee mill to be grounded. He turned to give them half a smile and shrugged. “That's right, because I have a good hunch what you’re here about. Lewis said that the police might take interest at some point and come talk to us.” 

Buck stopped fiddling with the delicate porcelain coffee cup, his brows raised in surprise. “Nixon said that, huh?” 

Winters gave another noncommittal shrug. “We don't really discuss Lewis' work. I don't understand much about stocks or investing so there's not much to talk about. But I do understand that it's complicated so it's not that surprising for law enforcement to get involved from time to time.” He measured freshly ground coffee into a coffee maker, flipped the machine on and continued to fuss around the kitchen. There were soon more china in his hands, little desert plates this time, and he set them on the counter as well. 

Lipton cleared his throat. “So, what is your understanding of your husband's work?”

Winters threw him an amused look. He was going through several glass jars and striped cans on his kitchen counter, apparently looking for a specific one. “I'm afraid that you know more about that than I do already,” Winters chuckled, taking a red and white striped tin can with him next to the stove, where a pan of some sort sat covered with a linen. “Lewis calls himself a paper-pusher, as he mostly just moves various types of paper around. I know that he invests, but other than some riveting tales of theater productions, I know nothing specific about it.” 

The pan turned out to be a fresh-looking apple pie, and the tin can in Winters' hand contained powdered sugar that he carefully sprinkled on the crust. 

“And how about you, Mr. Winters? Do you work at all?” Buck asked. 

The apple pie was apparently ready, because Winters picked it up from the stove and set it on the counter among the china plates and cups. “Oh, I don't work anymore,” he said, “haven't since Lewis and I got married. Well, I am sort of a homemaker, but I don't consider that working for him.”

“Of course,” Lipton agreed, taking notes. 

A bowl of sugar and a creamer appeared on the table, and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as the coffee maker finished brewing. Winters poured them all coffee, to the guests first, and after putting the pot back to its stove, he finally sat down, opposite from the detectives. He was eyeing them both, good-natured and politely invested in their conversation. 

“And how about your bank accounts? Do you share one or do you have your own, or...?” Buck inquired while pouring cream into his coffee. 

“I have my own personal account and my savings are separate from Lewis'. We have a shared account for our household expenses as I do most grocery shopping and stuff like that,” Winters summarized. “But I don't see how that could be of any interest to you, detectives.” 

Lipton smiled kindly and shrugged. “We just ask some questions. We never know what could be of interest, so this is just routine. This is not an official interrogation or anything like that, Mr. Winters, so you can relax,” he assured. 

Winters smiled back, but not relieved, reassured, or anything. If he thought of anything about their visit, he didn’t show it. Perhaps it was trust, perhaps it was indifference, but willful ignorance it probably wasn’t. The man didn’t let much on, but he certainly wasn’t a fool. 

Buck jumped back to questioning. “So, leaving finances out of all this, could you tell us about your relationship a little? Like how you met, how you got married, what you do together… Stuff like that.” 

The topic seemed to be to Winters’ liking, because his smile gained a warm undertone. He set his coffee cup on its plate and laced his fingers together. “We met almost nine years ago when we were both working, I was hired by Nixon Funding for a little while and got to know Lewis on the side. It turned out that we liked each other, and a year later I followed Lewis back to the US. We married and agreed that Lewis keeps working while I stay at home, and so here we are, seven years married.”

Lipton was scribbling down notes as he spoke. “What was your job in the Nixon Funding?”

“I was a personal assistant. Lewis’ father actually hired me to assist his son while he was in Europe. I have some experience in archiving, and I was between jobs back then, so of course I took the job,” Winters replied. “I might still have my CV somewhere still, if you’d like to take a look.”

Buck and Lipton took a look at the man to see if he was joking, but his expression was nothing but earnest.

“Ah… No, that’s okay,” Buck said, waving the issue aside. “You said you were hired by the older Nixon?”

Winters shrugged. “Yes, that’s true, but I worked close to Lewis. I didn’t meet his father in person until Lewis and I were about to get married. If you’ve read the papers, you’ll know we were something of a talking point for a brief time.” There was a tilt of sort in his voice, like they were referring to some sort of a delicate secret they shared. Neither Lipton nor Buck could decide what to think about it. 

After a moment of contemplative silence, Lipton decided to take up the subject. He approached it with his kindest and most compassionate voice, avoiding all judgment: “We are aware of the stories, Mr. Winters. We are here talking to you because we don’t just believe idle gossip. Would you like to tell us yourself?” 

Winters tilted his head a bit and regarded Lipton for a moment, clearly adjusting his judgment of the man. Then he shrugged and picked up his coffee cup again. “What’s there to say, really? Lewis and I met and liked each other, but we are very different. Anyone can see it, no matter whom you ask. I’m a country boy, grew up in a rural town and served in the army to make something of myself. Lewis comes from old money, grew up all over the States and went to Yale. People seem to be eager to make up all sorts of reasons for our marriage because the obvious explanation doesn’t fit their world view.”

“The obvious explanation?” Buck asked.

Winters gave him a polite yet pointed look. “That we love each other. Lewis is a good husband.”

“Uh-huh,” Buck said. “You’re his second spouse, correct?” Lipton kicked him under the table.

“That’s correct,” Winters said. If he was insulted or irritated by the remark, it didn’t show. Then he turned to the pie and picked up the knife. “Apple pie? It’s my mother’s recipe.”

Both Lipton and Buck started to refuse, but Winters was already cutting into the pie and then putting slices onto their plates. “Come now, don’t be shy,” he said and pushed their plates towards them. With slices of frankly delicious-looking pie in front of them, Buck and Lipton picked up their forks and took little bites out of the desert. It was just as good as it looked. 

Winters looked pleased. “Anything else of interest, detectives?” 

Lipton and Buck exchanged a look. They ate for a moment, and when Lipton’s mouth was empty, he leaned forth and put on a deeply compassionate expression. “Mr. Winters. The truth is that your husband is under some suspicion because of his finances. You seem like a good man, Mr. Winters, and we would hate to see you get mixed up into any of this, so we’d like you to help us in any way you can so this mess can be cleared up.” 

Winters returned Lipton’s look with that same polite interest as before, but now with a slight crease on his forehead like the words he had said didn’t quite make sense. “If there’s a problem with our taxes, we’d like to sort it out with IRS, not the police.”

Lipton averted his gaze and leaned back on his seat. “This is not tax-related, Mr. Winters.”

Winters looked genuinely confused then. “I don’t see what else it is about then. You haven’t showed me anything about your case, mentioned any charges or presented any evidence. If there’s a problem with Lewis’ business, I suggest talking to him about it.”

Buck laced his fingers and leaned forward. “Mr. Winters. The investigation involving your husband is a pretty serious one. We’d like your help, so that we can in turn help you both.”

Winters gave them both long, slightly confused looks, then turned to look out of the window. He seemed contemplative, and finally took a deep breath and then sighed. “Where can I reach you if I need to?” he asked. “Where do you work? Do you have business cards?”

Lipton and Buck both went for their breast pockets, fumbling for their stacks of cards. Both pulled out a card with their contact information on them and pushed them across the counter towards Winters. 

“Here you go,” Buck said. 

“Please don’t hesitate to call about anything. Any information would be helpful,” Lipton said, and then got an idea and added: “Also, in the event that you and your husband would like to come in and work with us, we can provide protection. We’ll help him the best we can.” 

Winters picked up both of their cards, briefly looked them over and hid them into his left palm. “Thank you, detectives,” he said. “Now is there anything else?” 

There wasn’t anything else, and after second cups of coffee had been forced on them and the pie slices were gone Lipton and Buck left the apartment, somehow feeling like the whole trip had been waste of time. 

They spent the elevator ride down in contemplative silence, walked back to their car, and once they slammed the doors shut, sat still for a little while longer. 

Buck was first to break the silence: “Why do I feel like that was useless?” 

Lipton leaned against the steering wheel and shrugged. “Maybe because under all those manners and fussing all he basically said was ‘no comment’ and ‘I don’t know anything’. Actually, given that we just gave him our cards, he might have learned more than we did.”

“Goddammit,” Buck grunted. He frowned, going through the conversation in his head. “He’s not at all what you’d expect. Given the type of a man Nixon is, I mean.”

Lipton could only agree. “Yeah. That actually supports the theory about an innocent bystander trophy husband. Except that…”

“…He isn’t much of a trophy,” Buck finished for him. “Even if Nixon is just rebelling with his marriage, he could have married a poor nobody woman, or a rich socialite man. Marrying a nobody man just seems like going overboard.” 

Lipton started the car and began to steer them away from the parking spot. “Well, didn’t you hear what Winters said? They love each other, apparently. Or maybe Nixon loves him, and Winters is in it for the money.”

Buck scoffed at the idea. “Unlikely. The man has an herb garden, for Christ's sake! You saw it too, please say you saw it and I didn’t hallucinate that kitchen, Lip!”

Lipton laughed. They drove away from the neighborhood back towards downtown. “Yeah... It could be a genuine love story. Maybe they are the perfect, blissful married couple, and Winters actually has no idea that Nixon’s money is bloody and dirty.”

“A prince in the tower, huh,” Buck sighed. “That poor bastard has another thing coming, then. I kinda feel sorry for him.”

Lipton sighed. “Yeah. After that pie you would.”

*

It was afternoon, half past four and the perfect hour to do this, but still Dick hesitated. He was standing alone in the empty penthouse in the middle of moving boxes and a few pieces of new furniture still in plastic wrapping, wondering how he had ended up here. A penthouse apartment in Chicago still felt as unreal as a thought of moving into a castle, yet here he was. 

This was home now, a home he shared with his newly wedded husband, who was at work being bored to death with finance meetings. There was nothing stopping Dick from making this particular phone call. 

And still, Dick just stood in the living-room, alone with the puppies and a phone in his hand, mentally talking himself out of it. The honest man that he was, he could recognize that he was afraid, but of what, he couldn’t quite place. Disappointment? Judgment? Rejection? 

He didn’t know, and he wouldn’t know either if he didn’t call. He took a deep breath, turned his gaze momentarily to the balcony and his garden that was just a few pots of flowers but already blooming, then pressed the green receiver and put the phone to his ear.

As he listened the call going through, that tooting sound on the line, he let himself sit down on the floor and surrendered to the wait. 

The wait went on forever. Forever and ever it stretched, and briefly Dick worried that the person he wanted to reach would allow the call to go to voicemail or that he wouldn’t pick up calls from an unknown number. In either case he wouldn’t answer, and Dick would have worked up the courage and worried for nothing. 

But then – 

“Hello, Harry Welsh speaking,” answered a voice on the other end of the line.

Dick swallowed, his heart beating faster at the sound of his voice. “Harry – “ he said, “Hi. Hi, um. It’s Winters. Dick Winters.” He mentally cursed himself for fumbling like that, but at least he got the introductions out of the way.

Harry was quiet for a few long seconds. “Dick?” he asked in disbelief.

Just disbelieving, Dick noted with relief. “Yeah, it’s me,” he confirmed. “I’m back to the States now. I thought I’d call you just to… Um. Let you know that I’m back and… Alive, I suppose.” 

Harry stuttered a little, fumbling for words and clearly taken aback by the call. Dick didn’t blame him and simply gave him the time he needed.

“Yeah, yeah, I spotted you in a magazine,” Harry managed to say. “I didn’t know how to reach you, or – or if you wanted me to reach you or… Well. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“It has. It has been quite some time,” Dick admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know if I should contact you at all, actually. I mean, I wanted to, I’ve wanted to for some time now, but things are complicated. But then I thought, maybe you’d want to hear about me and ask me for an explanation, and I owe you that much at least.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry admitted. A beat of silence. “You don’t owe me anything, Dick. Not even an explanation. I have my guesses where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, but you don’t have to say anything, I’m just glad you called.” Another moment of silence came, this time full of hesitation like Harry wasn’t quite sure should he go on. “I was so relieved when I spotted you in that magazine, Dick. I didn’t think I’d… see you again.”

Dick swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that. It was… I was a bit messed up for a good while.”

Harry sighed. “I think anyone who comes back from war is at least a bit messed up. We all struggle, just in different ways.”

It felt good to hear Harry say that, but Dick didn't delude himself that he really understood or approved just how off the rails he had gone. Regardless, Dick treasured the now. 

“You got married, then?” he said to guide the conversation to more pleasant topics.

Harry's joy could almost be heard swelling on the other end of the line. “Sure did! Kitty and I didn't waste any time when I was at last discharged.” He paused, perhaps considered if he wanted to share more or not. “It hasn't been all smooth sailing for me either, Dick.”

“Yeah. But things are looking better for you now, aren't they?” Dick replied.

Harry's happy sigh was an answer enough. “Yes, they are. I'm working in education now, can you believe? Me, a teacher! Every day I’m surrounded my middle-school children and try to keep them in line and make them learn something. It’s wonderful, really. It’s not that different from the army, lots of rules and trying to keep the brats from killing each other, but it’s as big a change as one can imagine.”

Dick listened to the story, a smile creeping to his face. “Hey, that’s great, Harry. That’s wonderful to hear. Children give you hope.”

“They really do,” Harry agreed, “it’s a wonderful job. Doesn’t pay much, but together with Kitty we make the ends meet.”

Dick slumped on his back on the floor, staring to the ceiling, the breath rushing in him with relieved ease. “That’s great, Harry. I’m happy for you both.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry accepted routinely. “It’s good of you to give me a call. Have you… been back long?” He had spoken about himself freely and with the same comfortable friendship they had shared years ago in service, but when Harry tried to ask about Dick, he hesitated. Dick suspected it was a mixture of not knowing what or how to ask since he knew so little, and not being sure if questions were welcome at all. 

That hesitance empathized the silent years between them, but on the other hand Dick was grateful for it. He couldn’t have dealt with a detailed interrogation, and one reason why he had kept his distance was to avoid even the chance of that. “I’ve been back almost three months,” he answered. 

“And are you staying?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said, wholeheartedly. He looked around the apartment that was still empty, but that he and Lew planned on furnishing and decorating exactly like they wanted to, and the two Labrador puppies snoozing in their basket by his feet already filled it with warmth that reminded Dick of his childhood home. “Yeah, I’m staying for good now. It’s all okay now. I got married too, if you noticed.”

“Yes, I spotted it in the magazine,” Harry said, suddenly carefully worried. “I didn’t know what to think about it. Is that…” he paused to search for the right word, trapped between worry and fear of being intrusive, “…good?”

“It’s good,” Dick said in a sigh, with all his heart. “It’s very good.”

Harry made an agreeing noise. “Good to hear. I guess I was wondering if you’re in it willingly. I’m sorry, but I was.”

“No no, I get it. We’re both in it for real, no matter what anyone might say,” Dick assured him. 

“Then congratulations are in order,” Harry said.

“Thank you! I’m a happily married man now, picking curtains and furniture for a home I share with the man I love,” Dick listed, marveling at his own luck as he did. 

“I suppose I wondered if it’s a 'Pretty Woman' sort of a situation,” Harry said, covering his discomfort with humour.

“I mean, it kind of is? He is my new beginning. Harry, he bought me two puppies for a wedding present.” 

“That’s – Yeah, that’s wholesome.” 

They shared a laugh, something easing between them. It felt good to know that his old friend had worried about him, even after all these years apart. Frankly he was happy that Harry was willing to talk to him at all, the fact that he had genuine concern to spare was more than he had dared to even consider.

“You could have reached out to me sooner,” Harry said now that the mood was lighter. 

Dick considered it, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. “I didn’t dare. I kind of disappeared on you after we got discharged, and… I really haven’t been okay for a while. It has been some really awful times for me, whereas you got married to a proper woman and put together a nice life with her. I didn’t want to just show up on your doorstep to disturb that.”

Harry’s voice was compassionate. “Oh, Dick. You think about everyone else too much.”

There was a dull ache of guilt in Dick’s chest. “I got to, Harry. I got to think about people important to me. Just because I went down a wrong path doesn’t mean I have to pull others down with me.”

“You don’t have to right everyone’s wrongs, Dick. Mess happens sometimes.”

“I know. But I can protect people I care about, and I can leave them out of my mess for their own good.”

“And Nixon? Where does he come into all of this?”

Dick hesitated. He didn’t want to run his mouth too much, so he picked his words carefully. “We met under less than desirable circumstances, but we’re making the best of it. I don’t have to work if I’m with him.” 

The worry was back in Harry’s voice. “Dick, that’s – “ 

Dick interrupted him: “It’s not what it looks like. I could have walked away from him, and he could have walked away from me, but we didn’t. We love each other and we make each other better. That’s all I can ask for.” 

Harry sighed, somehow sounding like he was accepting defeat. “It's your life, and if you say it's okay, then I accept that. Jesus, it's not like I'm in any position to butt into your life and your decisions, I haven't been there for you for years!”

Dick stared out to the balcony and the greenery slowly taking to the new home. “I'm sorry about that, you know. I just – “

“You couldn't, I know,” Harry finished for him, “no need to apologize. It's not like these things were up to us anyway, right?” 

Dick gave a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. “Right. It's just... The last few years... They weren't very good for me. Or for anyone else for that matter.” It was probably the closest he could come to a confession and reeled himself back from it before he spilled absolutely everything. Harry didn't deserve any of that filth. 

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Harry assured him. “You don't have to come clean or explain or anything. I know a lot of guys got it really bad when they come back. You needed some time, that's all.”

Dick took that piece of sympathy and forced himself to accept it, even if it didn't really apply to him. He thought the very best of Harry, he was a loyal friend and a reliable brother in arms, and even though Dick felt so tainted because of his work he made himself believe that Harry still meant everything he said. Just talking to him again made it easy to smile.

“Well, not all of us had a fiancée waiting for us, ready to drive us straight from the airport to the nearest chapel,” Dick said with a laugh. He had met Kitty Grogan a few times, and if there was a woman fiery and stern enough to handle Harry Welsh, it was her. 

A mere mention of his wife made Harry return the laugh with an entirely new tone, so proud and utterly content. “Don't be too envious, you found yourself someone too after all. I'm sure you're as crazy about him as I am about Kitty, in your own weird, proper and serious way.”

Dick thought of Lew, his smirks and sparkling brown eyes, his laugh and wit and how he had at first been so afraid of tenderness, even more than Dick, and felt a rush of affection. “I really am. And he likes my weird, serious and proper ways by the way, thank you very much.”

Harry barked a laugh. “You should introduce us one day. Maybe come to dinner.” 

Dick joined in on the laugh even though he had no idea if he could go through with that. “That would be lovely. I’ll have to ask Lew though.”

“Very well, if you say so,” Harry allowed. “I want to meet this guy of yours, at least once at some point. I'm gonna make sure he treats you right, and if he doesn't, I'll set him straight.” 

Dick laughed again, this time almost startled with the sound. The selfish part of him wanted to introduce Lew to Harry, to show him around like any normal person would show their normal husband. He could imagine them all right then crystal clear in his mind, sitting together in Harry and Kitty's nice suburban home, in a dining room around a sensible table for four, having home-cooked dinner and chatting about work and friends and kids. 

“You could beat Lew up any day. Even if we weren't combat-certified soldiers, Lew would still be a smart-mouthed Yale boy who partied his college days away and couldn’t swing a baseball bat to save his life,” Dick said, shaking away the dream-like image of them as a normal couple doing normal couple things with their normal friends. 

“You bagged yourself a party boy, Winters?” Harry laughed. “How? _How?_”

Dick allowed the disbelieving laugh and even chuckled himself. He was fully aware of how odd a match he and Lew were. If they had met in college – no, scratch that, had they gone to the same college their paths wouldn't have crossed at all. He felt a strange twinkle of gratitude for how their paths had come to cross in later life, despite everything. And that _everything_ included a lot. 

“I do not know, Harry. I do not know,” Dick mused, “but I did. Perhaps jocks have been his thing all along? Or uniforms. I should probably ask him.”

Talking about Lew made him feel good, and for a minute longer they kept joking about their spouses, Harry ribbing Dick about his odd match and growing more delighted by every mismatched thing about them that Dick revealed. Their easy chat was interrupted from Harry's end of the line when he suddenly went quiet.

Dick frowned. “Harry? You there?”

Harry was quiet for a second more, then came back: “Yes, I'm here. Hey, want to hear the most precious thing in the world?” And without waiting for an answer he walked into another room, the phone was placed on a surface, and its mic picked up another person, a very small person.

“Hey there, little man,” Harry cooed, further away from the phone, “got a little restless, did you? Come on, let's calm down a bit, huh?”

The baby wasn't quite crying but making hesitant, testing noises of vague unhappiness like it wasn't quite sure if something was wrong or not. Harry kept talking to it, calm and gentle in his ridiculously sweet baby-talk, and after a few hesitant whines the baby calmed down, the crying turning into baby babble. The father and the son settled into a serene flow of communication consisting of humming and cooing noises, and after a minute Harry started to hum a lullaby.

Dick listened to the sounds of life, imagining Harry rocking a bundle in a blue romper and the baby slowly settling down. In his mind's eye he could see a pinkish baby boy with a tuft of curly blond hair slowly slipping back to sleep, certain that he was safe and loved. The image made Dick's eyes prickle, and he didn't wish for Harry to hurry up with his son at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kuodos are wonderful, and if you really liked this, please leave a comment telling me your thoughts. 
> 
> Until next time!


	8. First move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you for all the kudos left on previous chapters, and thank you for your wonderful comments.
> 
> It's time for an update, in which boys will be boys and good things come to those who dare to ask for them.

It seemed that after Buck, Toye and Guarnere had made Lipton fluster once with their teasing, Speirs was officially their new favorite topic to needle him about. It became a multiple times a day event since they all passed the front desk at least twice every day, and to Lipton it suddenly felt that every time he and Speirs exchanged greetings, he got at least one suggestive nudge from someone.

And not only that, but Lipton's lunch hour that he had used to spend in solitude was now known as “a lunch date” that the rest of his team sniggered and wiggled their brows about when he left for it. No amount of denying would have been enough for them, so Lipton elected to ignore it.

But what he found the most frustrating about the situation was that even though there was nothing going on, he couldn’t lie to himself and claim that he didn’t want that. Speirs must have noticed the not-so-subtle nudging and snorting by now, but he didn’t pay any mind to Lipton’s gawking friends, just greeted him and smiled as usual. 

Suddenly it also seemed that Speirs was much easier to come across. He wasn’t only manning the front desk, but he was also getting snacks and making deliveries to their floor more often, and every time Lipton crossed paths with him it was hopeless to even try to have a professional conversation with anyone. 

It took a week until Lipton had finally had enough of it. 

It was Thursday afternoon, Lipton and Buck had been catching up on paperwork and decided to take a small break to go get better coffee and something to eat from the cafeteria. They were on their way there, outlining their goals for the day, what needed to be done and filed away before their shift ended and if they should go to the gym together afterwards, when they ran to Speirs.

Speirs was coming from the cafeteria and making his way towards the elevator, carrying a paper mug of coffee, a yogurt and a fresh apple. He spotted Lipton from far away and locked eyes with him, and when they passed in the corridor, he smiled. “Good day, detective Lipton,” he said in passing.

“Hello, Speirs,” Lipton replied and held eye contact as long as possible. 

It was only a few seconds, but in that time he had forgotten to expect teasing that was already taking a form of a smirk on Buck’s face.

“Ooh, saucy,” he commented, drawing the word out with sarcasm. 

“Shut it, Buck.”

Buck just smirked wider and shook his head, only gaining more steam no matter how worn out the joke was. “No dice, buddy. That was some serious game you got there! Two whole words and eye contact, wow.”

“Just drop it,” Lipton groaned. He didn’t even want to come up with a better comeback. He didn’t want to talk about this at all, it was inappropriate at a workplace anyway, and all these dumb jokes had the same punchline. 

But no matter how redundant, it was a source of endless entertainment to the guys, and Buck beamed like a high-schooler at a house party having tasted cider for the first time. “No, let me appreciate you! Tell me, how long this saying-hello-phase usually lasts for you? How many months? Should we expect you to actually hold a conversation in a year?”

“We talk,” Lipton defended himself but sounded lame even in his own ears. He regretted the comment as soon as it left his mouth, but only because that really was all he was doing with Speirs. Lame put-downs to lame jokes, he supposed. For once he wished there would have actually been something to joke about. 

“And are you planning on making a move during this decade? Please tell me that wasn’t you making a move, Lip. Because if that’s your subtlety level, you’d have more luck in 18th century England than here – “ 

“You know what?” Lipton said, suddenly having had enough. He didn’t know where the sudden burst of daring came from, but he decided to ride it out with almost competitive vigor. “Wait there,” he told Buck, spun around on his heels and strode after Speirs.

“Hey, wait a minute! Speirs!” 

Speirs had made it almost to the elevator, but stopped and turned around to face him. His brows were raised in a polite inquiry in a dispassionate sort of way. “Yes?” 

Lipton didn’t let himself second-guess anything. He stopped before Speirs, took a deep breath, swallowed once, and then forced himself to calmly say: “Would you like to go out with me? As in, on a date? A dinner, perhaps?”

Speirs tilted his head, an amused smile rising to his lips and that uncannily keen look igniting in his eyes. “Yes,” came the simple blunt answer. 

“You would? Great,” Lipton breathed out, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “How's this Saturday for you?” 

“It's perfect,” Speirs answered smoothly. “Can I pick you up somewhere?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. I can text my address to you?”

“Yes. I'll see you then.” After a flash of a slightly wider smile that left Lipton flustered, Speirs turned around again and continued on his way. 

Lipton stood there for a moment longer and realized he was shaking ever so slightly. He had thrown himself into the situation so fast he hadn’t had time to get nervous, but something about it was still putting tremors through his body. The interaction was just starting to sink in. He had a date on the day after tomorrow. 

He had asked _Speirs_ out on a date, and he had said yes. They were going on _a date_.

He was suddenly happy, and riding that high he turned around and made his way back to Buck, who was standing exactly where he had left him and gave a low whistle when he returned.

“Well, that's that, I suppose. Congrats on the daring move, my friend,” Buck congratulated him with a chuckle.

“Thank you. Now, let's drop the subject and get back to work, alright?” Lipton said, aiming for professional but ending up hearing a hint of smugness in his own voice. 

That was the end of the teasing, unless you wanted to count the round of ooh's and aah's and sarcastic slow claps, or the congratulations the cyber unit texted him collectively within five minutes after the news had reached Guarnere. Lipton was proud of himself for making the move, but somehow he got the feeling that his friends all felt at least partially involved in it. 

The rest of the week went by as usual, but when Friday night finally came and Lipton went to clock out, Speirs caught him at the front desk. 

“Good night, Detective Lipton. See you tomorrow,” he said easily while gazing at him from underneath his lashes, and Lipton was suddenly flushed with sweet anticipation.

“Good night, Speirs. I'll be ready at eight.” And with that he made his escape, almost skipping the stairs of the station to the street. 

Saturday came by, and Lipton had all day to get nervous. He had time to overthink everything, like the fact that even though he had been the one to ask Speirs out, it had been Speirs who was picking him up. Lipton had gathered his courage and made the first move, but Speirs had seized the control almost immediately, and the realization made Lipton equal parts nervous and impressed. 

Not that Lipton had an actual plan in mind. He hadn’t really prepared for Speirs saying yes, and since he hadn’t ever dated that much, he didn’t have any regular places to take someone to. Even though he had to admit to himself that he had entertained some daydreams about spending time with Speirs, casually and with only the two of them, his daydreams were always so vague that they couldn’t be used as a reference either. 

Lipton hadn’t ever felt bad about not going out much, but now that he had hastily looked through a dozen restaurants and tried imagining them in all of them with no success, he wished he had culminated more experience. How did people even decide where to go on dates? Ratings and trends were just opinions of others, and if there was some sort of a social convention, Lipton didn’t know it. 

He didn’t know what to wear either. Most of his shirts were too casual, and his dress shirts lacked personality. He had no idea what to expect, but a tie was almost definitely too much, and he hated wearing one in any case. T-shirts or hoodies didn’t even come into question. What else even was there? Cardigans? Was he a cardigan person? No, he definitely didn’t want to be, not for Speirs, and not on their first date. 

He had already settled on a pair of neat black trousers that were among his better articles of clothing but not too formal, but the shirt remained a problem. And so did the jacket.

And the scar. 

He didn’t know if he was just imagining it, but for some reason he felt like the scar was more blaringly obvious today than ever before. Had it always been that big? That rugged? That red? 

He wondered if he could cover it up with something, but now was too late to dash out to buy make-up foundation and learn how to apply it, so he’d have to live with it. 

Then again, Speirs knew him with the scar and had still agreed on going out with him, him and his scar. It wasn’t a problem for him, and besides, Speirs seemed like the type of a person who wouldn’t only tolerate a facial scar but actually like it. 

Lipton stared himself in his bedroom mirror and wondered if Speirs would like his other scars too. The thought made him blush so suddenly that he had to force it out of his head. That was not an option yet. First things first. 

The clock ticked close to six, and in his panic Lipton did the only thing he could: Texted Gordon.

_Help. I have a date. I don’t know what to wear or do or say. Help._ Two cries for help ought to cover it. 

This time it took only five minutes for Gordon to reply. _Date?? With whom? Also be smart and neat. Wear your favorite things. Be yourself. And now spill._

Solid advice, but unhelpful at the moment as Lipton had already taken out most of his wardrobe and decided he hated most of it. He typed back: _I asked the new front desk manager from our station out. He said yes, and he will pick me up at eight. I don’t know what he’ll like._

Gordon’s reply came fast: _He should like you. Casual shirt + formal jacket is a safe bet._

_I really like this guy,_ Lipton wrote back. Typing that made him feel giddy and excited even with all the dread. _Thanks for the advice._

Gordon wrote back: _Be present, be real / that makes love a real deal. :heart: :thumbs up:_

Lipton chuckled a little and went back to getting ready. His stomach was still turning, but he was looking forward to the evening. He hadn’t felt like this in a long while, and now that he had a chance, he didn’t want to ruin it.

He hadn’t gone out in a long time, and even though he didn’t consider himself an out-going person, he had to wonder if he had become a lonely one. He had friends and his job where he knew everyone, but still he spent the majority of his free time alone, and wondered if he just liked it like that or if loneliness had crept into his life and grown so slowly that he just hadn’t noticed. 

But none of that mattered when the clock came eight and his buzzer went off. Speirs was right on time, and Lipton was ready. 

Speirs was waiting for him by the door on the street, dressed completely differently than he did to work but still utterly himself with his squared shoulders and confident stance. He was wearing black slacks, a high-collared forest green shirt with a black jacket, and his hair was more tussled than neatly combed like he kept it at work, giving his formal attire a slightly untamed edge. Lipton couldn’t help smiling even when he felt a tingle of nerves at the sight of him. 

Speirs had his car parked by the street, and when they walked to it, he opened the door of the passenger’s side for Lipton, casually chivalrous. His car was spotless on the inside and still had some of that new car smell, and Lipton wondered if Speirs kept all things in his life in such pristine condition. 

When Speirs got to the driver’s seat he fastened the seatbelt, started the car and looked ready to go, but instead of switching the gear on, he turned to Lipton. 

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked.

Lipton blinked. “I… Uh, I didn’t pick a place. I thought you would.” 

“I didn’t want to decide and risk it being something you don’t like,” Speirs explained. His left hand rested on the steering wheel while his right was ready on the gear shift. He clearly didn’t expect the conversation going on for long. “What do you like?” 

They ended up at a rather safe French restaurant neither one of them had tried before. Based on the prices on the menu it wasn’t too fancy, but not too casual either. This was a special occasion with effort put into it, and Lipton took their easy agreement on it as a good sign. 

They were seated at a round table for two and given menus in leather bindings by a waiter. 

Lipton waited for the awkwardness, but it never came. It felt actually a lot like one of their lunch breaks at work, only without the hurry and too bright lights. It felt nice. 

“This is a nice place,” he said, just to say something.

“Hold that until you get the food,” Speirs replied, eyes on the menu but a faint air of humour around him. It was strange to be able to tell when he was joking although he had a very deadpan way to do it. 

“If it’s not from a can or a mess kitchen, I’m sure it’s fine,” Lipton said back. “I don’t know anything about French cuisine, or food in general, I just like it when it’s good.” 

“A survivor’s attitude,” Speirs summed up for him.

Lipton ended up ordering fish while Speirs ordered duck. The waiter recommended white wine for them, which Speirs accepted on behalf of them both, but only a glass for himself since he was driving. Lipton was prepared to split the check and was mentally calculating the cost of wine, but one glass couldn’t bring it up too much, so he cast the worry out of his mind. 

After they had ordered, Speirs folded his hands on the table and asked: “Not to sound like a job interview, but what do you do on your free time?”

Lipton was amused and shrugged. “I don’t have actual hobbies really. I like to just take it easy, go to the gym, read, watch movies and other boring things that make me happy. I don’t like large outings of people often, and I’d rather talk than spend time in a noisy place.”

Speirs listened intently and nodded as if to agree. “I like my privacy and solitude too. It takes a special person to make me feel like I’d rather have company.”

Commenting on the obvious compliment would have been tacky, and so Lipton just smiled. He got it, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge it further. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that Speirs was charming. You wouldn’t guess it from his serious demeanor and strict attitude at work, but here they were regardless. It was in his determined eyes, his rare and for that all the more handsome smile, his focus and his smooth voice, and Lipton found he enjoyed being the target of them all.

“Should I take that as a promise that you won’t drag me to a series of nightclubs to get drunk just for the sake of it?” Lipton asked.

Speirs studied him like he was trying to break down the light quip into valuable pieces of information. “Yes, you should. Is that what your friends generally do?”

Lipton half shook his head, half shrugged. “Not generally, but sometimes. I have energetic friends. Sometimes I struggle to keep up.” 

“Well, I have a feeling our paces match,” Speirs said, pleased. “I don’t go out much, basically never actually. But when you asked, I didn’t have to think for a second what I was going to say.” 

It was a wonderful thing to hear. Lipton bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

“What else, then?” Speirs jumped back to the free time question. He sounded like he was gathering a list, only Speirs didn’t do things on autopilot or because of a meaningless routine, he was genuinely interested, and so Lipton allowed him his own medium to do things.

“Well I… I volunteer, actually,” Lipton said on a whim. He considered it very personal, but he felt trusting tonight. 

“Oh? Where?”

“I counsel a PTSD support group. Have been for four years now.”

Speirs regarded him quietly, openly impressed. “That’s wonderful. How did you come by that?”

Lipton considered the situation. It wasn’t a prying question, it could have been perfectly casual, but as it happened Lipton actually had a story to go with it, and it was personal and serious. But neither one of them was a casual person, this wasn’t some flippant little outing just for fun, and so Lipton decided to take the jump. 

“My family was in a car accident when I was ten. My father was killed, and my mother left paralyzed. My younger brother was in the car with them, and he had some hard times afterwards. So did mom, but she was an adult and she had her friends and doctors and all, but my brother was so young it hit him hard. He still doesn’t drive. I suppose I suffered too, from losing my father suddenly like that. The aftermath has been a part of our lives ever since, so when I was looking for a chance to make myself useful, a PTSD support group was an obvious choice.” 

Speirs listened to him without interrupting, giving him his full attention. “I’m sorry about your father. That sounds like a lot for a child to go through.”

Lipton shrugged. After all this time there wasn’t much to say about it. “It was, but I made it through. We all did, and I’m happy for the family I have.” He took a sip from his wine to give himself a breather, but he couldn’t swallow down what he had been quietly thinking to himself for a while. “I suppose I should take part in the group now.” 

There was a second of silence, enough to signal consideration, but Speirs’ voice was free of all pity and awkwardness when he spoke: “I heard about the shooting, I just didn’t want to bring that up in case you didn’t want to talk about it with me. I don’t want to pry.”

“Oh no, it’s okay. I – well, my partner is still in the hospital. He was paralyzed when they brought him in, but his recovery is going well. His hands are alright enough for him to type, and he’ll perhaps walk without support again too,” Lipton explained in a rush. He was so relieved about Gordon doing well. There had been so much blood on the floor and in his hands right after it had happened, and Lipton remembered hating his own wounded arm for being limp and useless in putting pressure on the wound. He had been more scared than ever before in his life when they had been taken to the hospital separately and he hadn’t heard anything about Gordon in a long while.

“That’s good to hear,” Speirs said, pulling him back in to the moment. “For an arrest gone wrong you still managed well. Both of you survived and you brought the suspect in alive.” 

“Yeah… So well,” Lipton muttered. 

There was a twitch of a smile on Speirs’ face. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be insensitive. It’s the old army mentality: Nothing goes according to plan, all is fucked up, but if your people don’t die and you secure the objective, it’s all good,” he said.

“I didn’t know you’ve served,” Lipton said, though now that he thought about it some things about Speirs made sense. He had a certain way of standing and walking, and his authority was specifically realized and utilized, making him a very dedicated desk manager. 

Speirs raised his brows. “You have avoided the gossip, then. Yes, I served, years ago, in my late teens and through my early twenties. But that brings us back to what you talked about earlier, about your volunteering. Lots of guys I knew needed that kind of support, but few got it. What you’re doing is really important.” 

Lipton didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he wished things were different, that he just wanted to help, and he also wanted to ask Speirs if he needed help and if he got it, but all of it felt like fussing and so he stayed silent. 

“So the point is, if you need help and you know where to get it, go get it,” Speirs concluded, looking Lipton directly in the eyes. He really knew how to make sure everyone knew that he meant what he said. 

Lipton smiled and nodded, tension unraveling. He felt reassured and hoped Speirs knew that he wanted the same for him as well. 

The evening went by like on wings. If they weren’t doing things according to the common consensus of correct dating, neither one of them even considered worrying about it. They sunk into deep conversation so completely that Lipton barely remembered the food arriving or eating it. He felt relaxed with Speirs and wondered if they were both a bit odd, but odd in ways that matched. 

They mostly split the check, but Speirs insisted on paying for the wine since he had ordered it without asking Lipton, and after only minimal arguing Lipton accepted the gesture.

_He bought me a drink. Maybe we’re checking boxes after all_, he thought and leaned his chin on his hand to hide his smile. 

Speirs drove him home, and they arrived before the building just minutes shy of midnight. When he parked, he turned the engine off but didn’t unbuckle the seatbelt, and neither did Lipton for a moment. There was a charge of anticipation in the air, something that was demanding to be addressed, and neither one moved. 

Lipton preferred to wait, and he watched as Speirs first glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned fully towards him, and when he did, Lipton was waiting for him. His heart was picking up speed, drumming like the foot of a rabbit, and he returned Speirs’ searching gaze with his own, hoping he looked inviting.

Speirs raised his hand and cradled Lipton’s jaw, his palm surprisingly warm. His thumb stroked his cheek lightly, brushing over the scar without hesitation, and he leaned forward a bit. Lipton tilted his head, leaning on the hand and mirroring the gesture.

Speirs’ green eyes studied him a second longer before becoming heavy-lidded, his lashes long and dark against his skin. Lipton let his own eyes fall shut, his heart pounding and his face flushing, expecting the kiss and welcoming it.

When the kiss came, it was soft and gentle, chastely dry, and utterly sweet. It was a first kiss through and through, unfamiliar with the territory and dizzying with the joy of newness. 

It lasted only a few wonderful, soaring seconds before Speirs pulled back and Lipton opened his eyes again. Speirs’ hand was still on his jaw, and his thumb stroked along the scar again. They regarded each other with something akin to juvenile joy and satisfaction. _We went and did that, huh?_

“Good night, Carwood,” Speirs said, his voice low and quiet.

“Good night, Ron,” Lipton replied. 

He got out of the car and walked to the door, tapped in the keycode and entered the stairwell. When he turned to glance back one more time, he saw Speirs still parked there, making sure he got safely inside, or perhaps watching him as long as he could. Both thoughts made Lipton’s heart skip, and he waved once more before starting to climb up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this installment. 
> 
> Kudos and especially comments keep a writer going! I'd be very curious to know what you thought of this chapter.


	9. Looking back

The next Monday it was a thrill to see Speirs back at work, and Lipton both looked forward to and feared it. But what he feared more was to see his colleagues, all of whom knew that they had been on a date and that it had been Lipton’s first date in literal _years_, and none of whom would even dream of asking Speirs anything about it. Lipton trusted that Speirs wouldn’t say anything even if someone was foolish enough to try and pry into his personal life, but that also meant that the fun questions were waiting for Lipton alone at work. 

He and Buck got to the station pretty much at the same time on Monday morning, and Buck was doing a lousy job pretending he wasn’t absolutely bursting with questions. His “morning, Lip!” had too much bounce in it, and all the way from the lobby to their floor he kept throwing looks to Lipton, who in turn pretended not to notice. 

They got to the conference room in the Homicide Department they had reserved for today and started to sort out their things, and within minutes Toye arrived, and soon after Guarnere carrying four tall take-away cups of coffee. Lipton glanced at the clock on the wall and timed that the pretenses at normality had gone on for exactly two and half minutes.

“Well?” Buck said, drawing the word on, barely holding a grin at bay. “How was it?”

Lipton gave him a politely confused raise of eyebrows. “How was what?”

Guarnere slammed his hand on the table, losing whatever slim thread of patience he had been holding on to. “C’mon!” he barked. “The date! Don’t play with us!”

Lipton bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from getting too wide. He kept sorting out the paperwork before him, drafting mentally a to-do list for the day. “Oh, that,” he muttered, and didn’t continue.

The silence stretched on, all three other detectives staring at him.

Toye was first to clear his throat. “Did it not go well?” 

“No, it was good,” Lipton said, still staring at the table.

Buck was restless on his feet, nearly skittering with all the curiosity. “Well? Details, please? Come on, Lip, tell us how it was! Where did you go? What was it like? We bet that he’d take you on a shooting range or a taxidermy class.”

Lipton nearly laughed aloud. Speirs had acquired quite a reputation, and as Lipton understood, with very little effort of his own too. He just had an uncanny aura to him, that was all. “No, we went to a restaurant, as people do.” 

“Did you hunt your own food or something?” Guarnere asked, chuckling.

Lipton rolled his eyes. “We went to a French place, and it was nice. He was nice. He opened the car door for me.” He didn’t know why that particular detail had stuck with him and why it came out of his mouth now, but it had and it did, and Lipton forced himself to not fluster. 

“A gentleman, then. Good, we won’t have to go to defend your honor,” Buck said, making Lipton chuckle. Speirs was an inch or so shorter than Buck and not as heavily built, but somehow Lipton had a feeling that he could still take Buck on in a fight. Not that Lipton wanted to ever see Speirs get into a fight, least of all a fight about him, but despite being a desk manager he had a physicality to him that was hard to pinpoint. But considering he was at work right now, Lipton stopped that train of thought and pushed any and all thoughts of Speirs and his undoubtedly attractive physique out of his mind. 

“So it went well, then? You like him?” Guarnere kept pressing. He was holding a coffee cup in hand and pushed the three others to the middle of the table, and Lipton picked one of them wondering if it was a bribe. 

Unhurried, Lipton took a sip out of the cup, tasting slightly sweetened coffee with cream and some sort of syrup. Yep, definitely a bribe. “Yes, I like him,” he admitted.

Buck might have been doing a subtle but victorious fist pump as far as Lipton could tell from the corner of his eye.

“You gonna see him again?” Toye asked. His tone of asking these questions was awkward, something that was probably more suited for interrogating suspects, but he too seemed to be riding the wave of excited curiosity Buck and Guarnere had managed to hype up. 

“We… Didn’t actually agree,” Lipton said. They had kissed, and in his book that was as good as any ‘I want to see you again’, but they hadn’t actually set a date or made plans. “But I think so. I want to.” 

“So that’s it, then. Fellas, this is a great day,” Guarnere declared to them, mockingly serious and toasting with his coffee. “Lip has gotten himself a love life. Let's all wish him luck and success with it.” 

Lipton accepted the toast with only minimal eyerolling, and then ushered them to work. 

He didn’t stop thinking about Speirs though, or the fact that they hadn’t agreed on a second date. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he definitely wanted to go on another date and was nervous that maybe Speirs didn’t, even though all evidence pointed towards the contrary. 

Speirs was nice. Lipton really liked him, and not only liked him but found him attractive. There was something different about him that was drawing him in, and he itched to find out more about the man. He wanted to get to know him, to really know him, everything about him. He wanted to be invited into his life and learn all his secrets, swoop in and figure him out completely and offer himself up in the same way. The feeling struck him hard, and he realized he was falling into this thing fast, like meeting Speirs had meant throwing himself out of an airplane. 

Lipton found Speirs during their by now regular coffee break that afternoon, walking into the cafeteria at the same time. 

“Hi,” he said breathlessly as soon as he caught up with the other man.

“Hi,” Speirs replied.

They walked together to the line, picking up mugs and stopped to wait for their turn. 

“I had fun last Saturday,” Lipton started, turning his mug over in his hands.

Speirs glanced at him with a smile in his eyes. “I did too.”

It was impossible not to smile back. They had parted with a pretty good consensus about how things had gone, but it was still wonderful to hear that same feeling reflected back again a few days later. Lipton cleared his throat. “So… I was wondering if you’d like to go out again sometime?” 

Momentarily there was something hesitant on Speirs’ face, something that resembled uncertainty. It was there and gone in less than a second, but Lipton was a perceptive man with a keen eye for emotion, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to think about it. Their date had gone well, but might Speirs still not want to go out on a second one?

But the moment was and went, and then Speirs was smiling down at the counter. “I would. Could I take you somewhere again?”

The moment of scare went past and the fluttering warmth flooded back, and Lipton all but forgot about the little hiccup. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’m free this Friday – and all weekend too, if that’s better for you.” 

Speirs lifted his head to smile his unreadable smile at him while he filled his mug from the coffee machine. “Friday is great. That afternoon, then?”

“Pick me up at five at the earliest and we’re good.”

And that was how it was agreed on, easy and simple. Lipton wondered if there was a case of nerves on Speirs’ end of things too, and the thought caused a burst of joy in him. He dared to consider that he was worth of shy admiration too, and since their tension seemed to be a mutual thing, it wasn’t all that crazy a thought. 

But whereas his social life was taking off, that didn’t transfer to the case they were working at. Lipton was glad that the others were happy for him, but he also had a feeling that his life acted as light entertainment to balance out the work that was going nowhere. 

Both Toye and Guarnere had been increasingly irritated for a few weeks with nothing new coming up about their killer, and it was starting to look like the hitman was going to get away with it. There had been no new leads, no new murders, and nothing new about Bormann, and with the forensics clean and their list of suspects still empty, it looked bleak. 

They were still waiting for something to happen, and meanwhile they were finding finer and finer combs to go through the material they had.

Lipton got back with his coffee and found only Buck at their desks, tapping a pen against the tabletop and rolling back and forth in his chair. 

Lipton sat opposite of him and waited him to voice whatever was making him restless. Buck never fidgeted because of plain nerves, but always with purpose.

“There’s got to be something,” Buck finally said. “Something. There has to be some sort of physical evidence that these people have been in contact with each other. I know it’s the technological age and all, but you don’t just e-mail a murder, and I doubt these people rely solely on phones either.”

Lipton agreed. Just because they cleaned up well, it didn’t mean that the criminals didn’t actually meet or make appearances. “Yeah. We know that Nixon and Bormann have met. But do we know anything more?” 

Buck pointed the pen at him. “Toye managed to snoop out where Bormann is staying, but his goons are all over the city and we don’t even know how many he brought with him,” he said. “He’s a mob boss, I doubt he travels light or alone.”

Lipton nodded. He had a few guesses how Toye had managed to find the hotel Bormann was staying at, but didn’t care to know the details. “We have no idea how many people he brought over with him, but he did meet Nixon with three. He has a close inner circle, I’d imagine. These people don’t trust easily.”

“He’s met Nixon one time that we know of,” Buck continued. “I wonder if there has been more.”

“Or if there will be more.”

Buck hummed thoughtfully, the pen tapping his chin now. “You know, with us keeping an eye on them, Nixon can’t move money.”

“I wonder what his clients think of that,” Lipton added, following the thought.

“Nothing good, I’d imagine,” Buck chuckled. They had left their cards and an offer to help with Winters, and that might end up bringing good things their way, but for the time being there was no way to tell. “You know, maybe the client is keeping an eye on their service provider.”

Lipton was in the middle of a sip of coffee and it took him a moment to swallow and put the mug down, and Buck waited for him patiently.

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine you’re a European mob boss who’s given his money to an American businessman to launder, but then that money doesn’t come back on schedule. You look deeper into it, find out that the businessman’s corporation is under police investigation and that a couple of his accountants have turned up dead. Something happens that makes you actually fly over yourself to see what’s going on. Then what?” Buck explained with a determined spark in his eyes. He had an idea, and when it was all laid out like that, Lipton caught his drift.

“I wouldn’t hang around my hotel and just wait for things to work out,” Lipton replied.

Buck nodded with emphasis. “We got to put in a request for someone to keep an eye on our targets. They just might make contact, and if they do, we’ll know about it.” He had already straightened up in his chair and leaned towards his computer, probably already arranging the extra help while he spoke. 

But Lipton had gotten an idea of his own too. He didn’t like it much because it meant a lot more tedious work, but it was something that held promise. “You know…” he began, still sketching the actual plan of action in his head, “a lot of things take planning. You have to know exactly when and where someone is in order to catch them at the best possible moment. Gaining that information takes time.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that our hitman might be a true professional, but he’s not clairvoyant or an actual ghost. He can cover his skin, wear gloves and wipe every surface that he touches, but he’d still have to case each of his targets,” Lipton explained. “There’s surveillance footage from every location that’s relevant to our case. There might be a vehicle that’s in all of them.

Buck looked both eager and slightly disappointed that it hadn’t occurred to them earlier, and his next words made it clear why: “Lip, that’s hundreds of hours of surveillance footage to go through.”

That was obvious, and Lipton clicked his tongue with resolution, already having made his peace with the workload. He took a calm sip of coffee. “Yeah, I bet. We can share some of it, but hey, who needs sleep?”

Buck grinned and shook his head at him, but Lipton was already looking up the addresses and the surveillance on the areas they wanted to focus on to see it.

It was another long day, and somehow even more exhausting than those with a lot of places to be and reports to write. Somehow simply staring at a screen and going through black-and-white surveillance footage for hours and hours was more draining than anything to do with numbers or bureaucracy, and still Lipton knew he’d take it home with him. 

He was on his way out of the station by six, not anticipating getting home at all since that meant just more work, but stopping by at the hospital was a highpoint of the day. 

“Well hello there, Lip!” Gordon greeted him before he even had the chance to knock on the half open door of his room. “Get your ass in here and share all the fine details! I helped you out, so you owe me.”

Lipton huffed a sheepish laugh when he stepped into the room. He knew fully well what Gordon meant and there was no use trying to pretend otherwise, so he might as well indulge his best friend even if he was nosy. Besides, after such a long day and a whole week of similar ones ahead of him, he was glad to be allowed to talk about Speirs. 

Gordon narrowed his eyes at him with a mischievous smile on his lips. “You’re blushing,” he observed. “You are blushing! Oh, no, how far did you go? You didn’t go all the way on your first date, did you? Christ, Lip, I let you out of my sight for a few months and you’re already living the wild life! Isn’t three dates before sex the culturally approved minimum?”

If Lipton hadn’t been blushing before, he was now. He pulled up a chair by Gordon’s bed and tried to hide his flaming cheeks into the collar of his jacket, denial ready to go.

“Of course not! We just had dinner,” he said quickly when he sat down, waving the lewd suggestions aside. “What kind of questions even are those? You know it takes me much longer than that to actually warm up to a guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, save your excuses. Now spill and spare no detail! I want to know everything.”

Lipton shrugged, still smiling like he couldn’t help it, and picked on a single loose thread on his jeans. “He’s really nice,” he said.

“And?”

“And I like him. We don’t have that much in common, but we have a similar outlook on life. I think we get along really well, and he’s…” he trailed off and felt his cheeks heating up even more.

“He’s what?” Gordon pressured him, leaning eagerly forward on his bed.

Lipton lifted one shoulder into an exaggerated half shrug, half shielding himself with it and smiled down into his lap. “He’s really attractive,” he confessed.

Gordon let out a whistle. “Well look at that,” he chuckled. “’Really attractive’, yeah right. In your language that means you think he’s smoking hot.”

Lipton snorted and laughed. “Yeah, sure,” he said, “if you want to use those words then fine.”

“I really do. What else?”

Lipton thought back to their evening, the nice restaurant he hadn’t been before and the food he no longer clearly recalled, and then called up the image of Speirs sitting opposite of him, off-duty and relaxed, his sharp green eyes focused only on him, their corners crinkling when he smiled. 

“I told him about my family and the group I counsel,” he said and practically felt the playfulness of the atmosphere evaporating. “He was really great about it.”

“Heavy stuff for a first date,” Gordon pointed out.

Lipton could understand the point, but to him it hadn’t felt like that. “I wanted to be real from the start. To just be myself and see if he could handle it.”

“And he could?”

It had been actually better than just handling, it had been understanding, but Lipton wasn’t about to babble about that. That moment was theirs, and theirs alone. “Yes, he could. He’s served in the army, you know? I hadn’t heard, but he has. Been deployed too. He has some heavy stuff to him too, and I think it was really great for us to share.”

“Phew, you really don’t pull any punches, either one of you,” Gordon said. “You know, if you wanted to be less emotionally raw and vulnerable, you could have just had sex.”

Lipton laughed again and shook his head like scolding Gordon’s comment, even though he may have been right. “Enough about me, how are you doing?”

It turned out that Gordon had been making leaps of progress. He still had a lot of pain, but his motor skills were making a great comeback with plenty of physical therapy under nurse Roe’s demanding presence. 

Nurse Roe wasn’t the chattiest of them but still very much present and a great listener, which in Gordon’s book meant that he got to ramble on and on about his life while someone else made acknowledging noises and the occasional question. 

Gordon was eating much easier than before, but his biggest problem was he had been on bedrest long enough that his muscles had weakened considerably and he exhausted himself quickly. 

“My recovery is so boring,” Gordon moaned, “there’s nothing going on here, just a few more steps some days, better pudding cups on others. Tell me what’s going on at the station. Has your case moved on at all? The nurses love the exciting tales of riveting police work.”

The return of the work topic brought back all the responsibilities waiting for him, and Lipton gave a heavy sigh. “Ugh, nothing much. I came up with an idea to try to catch our killer when he was still stalking his victims, so I’ve pulled up surveillance footage from months ago to watch on my free time in hopes of spotting a car or maybe a dark figure. I don’t know, it’s something. We also put eyes on Nixon and Bormann hoping that they’d make contact or do something incriminating.”

Gordon frowned. “Lip, please tell me you’re not using your nights doing police work. You need to sleep.”

“Of course I’m not. It’s just a few extra hours on evenings, it’s not entire nights. I sleep fine,” Lipton assured his friend, touched by his worry. He took the subject of worrying for each other’s health and turned it back on Gordon again, interrogating him about the amount of time and dedication he was putting into his physiotherapy, wanting to know all the details about it. Gordon squirmed and fumed, clearly frustrated by the progress he perceived as slow but that Lipton knew to be remarkably fast, which he then pointed out.

He stayed with Gordon for another hour and their conversation turned onto more casual topics, away from the health of either one. They had an easy friendship, one that you wouldn’t believe had started at work as casual acquaintances, and Lipton suspected that just being there for Gordon and providing that made him feel better. 

It wasn’t even hard to look at him anymore, and somehow Lipton wasn’t thinking about his own scar either. He was grateful for the good people in his life, those who provided him with warmth and that saw him for who he really was and supported him, and he wanted so badly to give some of that back to them.

When he got home it was almost nine o’clock. He hit the gym in the basement and worked up a good sweat, then took a long shower. By half past ten he fired up his coffee maker, opened his laptop and pulled up the first twelve hours of surveillance footage from the street corner outside the Kreminskis’ apartment building from about three weeks before the murder. It was one of the three locations with twenty days before the murders that had taken place there, and Lipton selected a fast-forward speed on the video and got to work.


	10. Eyes wide open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for more detective work that this time includes following people around. It's legal when the police do it. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on previous chapters. It's wonderful to hear about you readers.

There was precious little for the police to do but keep an eye out for anything unusual. Toye and Guarnere were all too used to that working homicide fulltime, but Buck had to fight the urge to be restless and fidgety. Buck was good with the twisting logic of shady business practices and numbers, and he wouldn’t have ever guessed how much just sitting around and doing nothing working homicide included. 

They had gotten the permission for surveillance and the patrols they had requested, but at this stage there was nothing more for them to do than to join the effort. 

There were multiple locations to watch: They wanted to know what Nixon and Winters were up to, but they also kept eyes on Bormann and his men who had also taken a semi-permanent residence in Chicago. A lot of the watching included just sitting in a car and waiting for their targets to come out of a building, then following them to another building and sitting in a car outside of that, then following them again to yet another building, and so forth.

Buck and Toye were paired up to follow Nixon around for a few days, just after they had done the same to Winters. 

Nixon had left his home by eleven in the morning and taken a cab uptown to the business district where Nixon Funding kept office, then stayed at work for six hours, gone to have lunch at a fancy restaurant across the street with a bunch of self-important men in suits, then gone back to work for another three hours, after which he had taken a cab home. After two hours at home, he and Winters had come out together in casual dress with both their dogs and gone for a long walk, stopped at a foodtruck to coffee with Christmas-themed spices as the vendor apparently thought that just after Halloween was an appropriate time for that, and then gone home. 

They knew that walks like that were a nearly daily routine for the couple, and that they walked arm in arm and played with their dogs, and seemingly talked the whole hour and a half they usually strolled around their neighborhood. 

Stake-out meant that Buck was drinking entirely too much coffee, and so was Toye. Luckily, neither one of them had any reservations about eating in the car, and during their hours and hours of sitting there for multiple days in a row, they had cultivated quite a collection of take-away cups, pizza boxes, sandwich wrappers and pasta containers. 

“How come that the lives of career criminals are this boring up close?” Buck muttered to Toye on day three when they covertly followed Nixon and Winters’ evening walk. 

Toye clicked is tongue and shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking the same. I suppose everyone’s everyday lives are boring if you watch them from a car.”

Buck hummed in agreement, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. They kept their distance and stayed parked as long as possible, careful not to draw attention to themselves. It wasn’t a hard thing to achieve in the busy streets of Chicago, but they wanted to be extra sure of themselves. Winters’ military record had been nothing but supplies and archiving, but you could never be too careful with specially trained people. 

That was what Toye had insisted, and Buck trusted him and agreed with the logic, but still it was hard to see a soldier in the man he had been following for several days. The only indication of his previous lifestyle was the fact that he ran six miles every morning before seven o’clock, and even that was made to look like a cute hobby for a homely person by the two eager Labradors barging on by his side. 

“They sure love their walks,” Buck noted, an hour into following the couple outside for the third night in a row.

“They sure do,” Toye agreed. “Look pretty innocent too. You’d never guess Nixon is under any kind of pressure from the way he’s acting. My buddy working organized crime tells me that usually when a man is unraveling they lash out, probably ship their wives and sisters away, and either lock themselves in their homes or never go home at all.”

“Our guy almost lives regular nine-to-five. Well, from eleven to whatever he wants, but you know,” Buck observed. Following Nixon had been one of the most boring assignments of his entire career. He was wealthy, but that mostly showed in how he travelled, what he ate and what he wore, which all projected into his workday persona. This man in jeans, a blue winter coat with a fur-lined hood and a beanie walking two dogs with a husband in a plaid-pattern coat and drinking coffee that was more a dessert than a beverage seemed like an entirely different person. 

“So he’s either innocent, or he has nerves of steel,” Toye noted. He had finished his coffee and was digging through his pockets for a stick of gum. He had been a smoker years ago and replaced the habit with bubble gum, but whether that was an improvement or not was up for a debate. 

“There’s no way he’s innocent,” Buck said with certainty. “He’s definitely guilty. Definitely. Proving it is another matter though.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

They sat in silence for a long while. Tension had been running high in their team of late as things were slipping from between their fingers. Nothing was happening, and even following every one of their suspects that they knew fully well had their hands dirty was producing nothing. 

They were almost certain that their hitman had already skipped town. There was nothing that indicated that he was still around, and since there had been no new murders and their suspects were all sitting pretty, there was nothing to indicate he would be needed either. 

Letting the murderer go was the most painful punch their team had taken, yet no one acknowledged it. The case was open and under investigation so no one wanted to admit defeat, but the complete silence on all fronts with nothing new was discouraging. According to Toye and Guarnere’s expertise, the only way a murder like this was solved was with either a confession or someone testifying, and all of them knew that one didn’t become a master hitman by introducing yourself by name. 

Bormann wasn’t much of interest either. 

He hadn’t made any further contact with Nixon, choosing to instead associate with harmless work contacts. He was acting like a perfectly normal businessman reviewing some international prospects, and it seemed that a high-profile European was a welcome guest for many Americans. 

Really the only things they had learned about him was that he read the paper every morning, dressed up for breakfast and despised American food, and that he was interested in real estate prospects in Chicago. 

The most progress that they had managed was to put names to some of the faces around him. He was always surrounded by an entourage of people in nice, dark suits who looked like they could work in a bank or perhaps sell very expensive cars. Luz had worked with the pictures and sent an inquiry to Interpol, where a response had come quickly. Hess, Esser, Dönitz and Schmitt were the immediate close circle, and they were all connected to illegal deals and activities across Europe. 

But right now, they were doing nothing. Bormann was just meeting people and hanging about at his hotel, making phone calls and acting like any international businessman. They had eyes on him at all hours of the day, but so far it had done no good.

Buck and Toye followed Nixon and Winters back from their walk to their building. Nothing interesting happened that night, and they stayed parked around their building until the night shift came to relieve them. 

The sluggish evening wasn’t completely without a turn. Buck and Toye returned to the station all but ready to go home, but were met with Guarnere and Lipton who were both keyed up and waiting for them. 

Lipton had worked hard all week, and it was finally paying off. He had a smile that lit up his pale face, and he called the whole team to the conference room. He had set up his laptop and hooked into a projector, reflecting a large view of a video player with grainy, gray-scale surveillance footage on a screen.

“I think I got something,” he started and got behind his laptop. “Remember when I got the idea that our hitman must have cased his locations pretty well in order to pull off those hits? Well I went back twenty days before them and watched the surveillance footage from the premises of the apartment buildings, and found something pretty interesting. 

He pulled up a clip of traffic footage from outside miss Hill’s building five days before she was murdered, then let the footage roll on double speed. Cars and people came and went, the amount of light changing as time went by, and Lipton let the video play for four entire minutes without a comment.

“Okay, and now this,” he said, switching into another tab and another video, this time outside of the Kreminskis’ building, six days before the murder. He let the footage play, once again sped up and for uninterrupted. 

“Okay, and what about them?” Buck asked when the clip ended.

Lipton lifted a finger for a pause and tapped at the laptop again, skipping back. He paused the video, then stood up and walked to the screen. “That,” he said and pointed at an ordinary four-door car that was parked on the street, just barely in the frame. “That car is in both of these videos, and I’m going to check this but I’m pretty sure we’re going to find that it the third location as well. It’s the same car, I’m a hundred percent certain of this, and it parks near both buildings and stays there for hours on end, and also does several drive-bys at night.”

A moment of silence followed as the full meaning sank in.

“Jesus, you sure?” Guarnere said, suddenly keen and leaned forward on his seat to narrow his eyes at the grainy footage and the little inconspicuous car in it. 

“Yes. It’s the same color and model, and in some frames I can see the plates.”

Toye was squinting at the video as well, mirroring his partner’s suddenly tense position on the edge of his seat. “It’s so lucky you spotted the plates. That car looks either grey or white. He’s purposely picked the most common color there is.”

“Even better, the car’s a rental,” Lipton added. “I ran the plates, and it’s not been returned or reported missing. The killer still has it.”

There couldn’t have been better news. This was what breakthroughs looked like, and even though they had to sleep on it and wait until the next day, Lipton could feel his heart beating out of his chest when he and Buck went to check the car rental out. 

They went to the place the first thing in the morning as soon as it opened. The rental was nothing special and it was hard to imagine it would have been picked for any particular reason. It was a good way away from the downtown area but not particularly close to any other place. It wasn’t close to the airport nor the train station, and there weren’t any hotels within its vicinity either. The rental itself was of medium size and offered a good variety of cars and was the type of a place that probably raked up three-star reviews steadily. 

When Lipton and Buck came by, there were three workers and a few customers on their way through. 

Lipton and Buck walked straight to the front desk and showed their badges to a suddenly very alert man in his mid-thirties with a nametag that read “Daryl Johnson”.

“Detectives Compton and Lipton,” Buck announced them easily, “we have a couple of questions about a car of yours and the customer who has it.”

“Sure,” Johnson said uncertainly. “But I can’t give away customer information just like that.”

“We’re working on a warrant to gain access to your logs,” Lipton noted. “But some questions first. Please look up a Mercedes with the plate G65-9744. We have a reason to believe that it’s connected to multiple crimes.”

“Damn,” Johnson said under his breath and turned to type on a computer behind the desk. It took only a second, and he read out loud what the screen said. “Yes, that’s ours. A silver Mercedes-Bentz CLA from 2010. Looks like it’s been rented almost three months ago and the contract has been renewed multiple times. There’s been no problem with the payments or the vehicle.”

Buck and Lipton traded a meaningful look. Both avoided getting excited ahead of time with such an uncertain case that had already disappointed them so many times, but if the car was paid for without a hiccup, there was definitely a chance that the hitman was still around and still using the car. 

Buck leaned towards Lipton and lowered his voice to speak: “We’ll definitely want to know where the money for that car is coming from. Who knows, maybe our guy is not as smart or well-prepared as he seems. Maybe he took care of the crime scenes but didn’t think we’d look for his car.”

“Maybe,” Lipton said, fully agreeing. It wasn’t even a longshot. His spine crawled when he thought of how the killer had probably been here and stood right where they were now, and rented a regular, inconspicuous car to stalk his future victims from. The car had left the rental three months ago. That meant that the killer had already had his job then, probably arrived in the city and then acquired a private vehicle so that he could learn the routines of his victims and be able to catch them at their most vulnerable moment. 

Suddenly he had an idea. “You wouldn’t be able to see exactly when the car was rented?” he asked Johnson.

Johnson raised his brows. “Sure I can. Just a sec.” He scrolled with his mouse a few times, then paused. “Yep, August the second, 10:08 in the morning.” 

The exact time was going to help them a lot, and Lipton leaned against the counter. “Do you still have your security footage from three months ago? We’d like to see the man who rented the car.”

“I… Uh, yeah, we probably do,” Johnson hesitantly agreed. “But I can’t just give it to you. You’ll have to speak with the head of security and show a warrant.”

“Sure, sure, we’ll do that,” Lipton assured him quickly. “But do you have it? You do, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” the man said again, a light frown and an awkward smile on his face. “Jeez, what’s this guy done in our car, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lipton said.

“Bad things,” Buck supplied with a hint of humour, and both detectives turned from the counter, both taking their phones out from their pockets, waiting for a word about the warrant. 

It took only half an hour for the warrant to come through, and with that Lipton and Buck had the full access to everything they could have wanted. They got the detailed information about the car that included pictures and a list of special features that would help them to recognize it, they got the information about the regularly made payments for it, and they got the security footage.

Back at the station Lipton got to do the honours of looking through the footage while Buck was sorting out the rest of the new evidence and paperwork for their search. 

August the second had been a busy day for the rental. People were constantly coming and going, and they were working with a full staff. 

Their camera system was nothing to write home about. The footage was in black and white and took only ten frames per a second, but it was enough. The camera that pointed towards the counter was mounted near the ceiling in the corner so that it caught both the customer and the staff member working behind the desk. 

Lipton took the footage to nine forty-five and let it roll while keeping an eye on the clock. 

There was a young woman, possibly a part-time teenage worker, manning the counter. A couple came in to return a car and simply left the keys on the counter, and the staff member sent them on their way with a bright smile. 

Ten minutes before ten. There were no customers at the counter. Someone fussed with a file cabinet behind the woman, and someone walked by but didn’t approach any workers. 

Then, five minutes before ten, a man walked up to the counter. He stood with his back to the camera when he spoke with the staff member. A slow interaction followed, some chatting and the woman briefly turned the computer screen towards him so that he could take a better look, most likely to choose the car he wanted. 

Then the woman turned the screen back to her side and filled in information. This took several minutes, but the deal was finalized exactly 10:08. Lipton held his breath, his gaze darting between the clock in the screen corner and the man in the video. The woman left the desk briefly and a minute later came back with the car keys, which she handed over to the man. He took the keys, turned and walked off frame without lifting his head once. 

Quickly Lipton looked though the footage from the other cameras as well, hunting for the time stamp and the man until he could piece together his exact movements in the shop from his entry to the parking garage where he got into a silver Mercedes and drove away. 

There he was, it had to be him. Lipton watched all the clips through twice more, this time also taking screencaps and saving them as pictures so that he could pick out the best one. 

Lipton took out his phone and called in a meeting in the briefing room in the Homicide Department where they had set up for their surveillance results. 

After Lipton had spent fifteen minutes queueing to their floor’s only photo printer and got to make his way to the briefing room, Buck, Toye and Guarnere were already there.

“Hey, Lip,” Guarnere piped up as soon as he entered. “What’s this about? Buck won’t say a thing!”

Lipton didn’t either. There was a board with all their information with the photographs they had taken and the maps they had drawn about the movements of the targets of their investigation. 

Lipton bypassed the European mobsters and the strangely out of place pictures of Nixon and Winters and went to the section of the board that was both the emptiest and the most gruesome. There between the pictures of neatly dressed European men lounging at a hotel in their expensive suits and the deceptively homely looking couple walking in parks with their dogs was a whole another creature. 

The board had more questions than answers, and it was red. It was a specific red that Lipton knew by now, red that made him stomach turn and kept him up at night, red that didn’t leave his hands or his dreams, red that signaled irreversible damage and fatal mistakes. 

Now he got to put a photograph of the man responsible in the middle of it all. In the middle of red, Lipton stacked a black and white photograph of a tall man in jeans, an open jacket and a hoodie under it, the hood pulled over his head. 

“There,” Lipton announced to his colleagues. “There’s our hitman.”


	11. In good times and bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I update this during small hours... But I want to! I'm very excited about this chapter. Maybe you'll understand some characters more after this.

Jury was still out on the married couple they were following. 

Buck was adamant that he wanted Nixon behind bars by the time this was over, but even he couldn’t decide what to think about Nixon’s husband. Having met the man he was conflicted, caught between a good impression and reasonable doubt. Even Lipton, who was otherwise a rational detective, had been on the fence about if Winters was aware of his husband’s shady dealings or if he was a completely innocent bystander in all of this, and more concerned about the truth than how it affected their investigation. 

Toye walked in on him in the conference room browsing through the fresh stock of photographs that had been delivered to him from their station’s darkroom and promptly took a seat next to him at the long table.

“How’s it look?” Toye asked. 

Buck glanced at him. Unlike the rest of them, Toye seemed to be completely immune to sleepless nights and stress and looked fresh and alert like he was about to step on a baseball field or run a marathon. The only thing about him that gave away how hard he was working was his overgrown haircut that hadn’t seen a barber for a few months. 

Buck flapped the stack of fresh photos from their recent stake-outs and grunted. “It’s looking,” he noted. “It looks like there’s plenty of innocent stuff, just harmless everyday things. I don’t think we’ve learned anything.”

“Come on, that can’t be true,” Toye argued calmly and offered his hand to take some of the photos to take a look himself. Buck handed the whole stack over.

“It is,” Buck said. “The happy couple just strolls around, plays with their dogs and apparently tries to visit every single café and restaurant there is in Chicago. Don’t these people usually have a few regular places?”

“That alone tells us things,” Toye said, slowly browsing the photos and taking a long look at each one. “They avoid routine, and Nixon doesn’t do anything suspicious or questionable or illegal-ish when his husband is present.”

Buck had to admit that Toye was right. He had thought of the same things but hadn’t counted them as results from their stake-outs since they seemed too minimal and more like little personality quirks instead of hard evidence or leads. Looking at the pictures of the blissful couple walking their wonderfully behaved and adorable floppy-eared Labradors and holding hands he felt like he should hand them over to the couple themselves to frame and hang in their bedroom. Or perhaps mail them to Nixon’s lawyer so that they could charm any jury let him get away with murder in the future.

“Among the valuable information is also that they both seem to love Christmas so much that they want to skip Thanksgiving altogether,” Buck huffed and pointed at the photo that Toye was currently holding where Nixon had bought a hot chocolate with gingerbread for Winters on one of their strolls.

Toye chuckled. “Positively criminal, yeah, I get it,” he said, then glanced at Buck for a second to study him more closely. “I bet this isn’t the type of evidence you usually deal with.”

“It sure isn’t,” Buck scoffed, letting his frustration show. “I don’t care about this guy’s homelife. Okay, I could maybe be somewhat sorry if I end up ruining his marriage, but he’s made his life’s choices himself and that’s on him. If his partner walks because we hang him out to dry for money laundering, I’m not shedding any tears.”

“I get it, me neither,” Toye admitted while he continued to browse. “But it’s not that you have to care, it’s that you gotta understand. That’s how you get violent criminals, you get to their emotional side and maneuver their relationships and personal feelings against them. That’s what we’re doing here. So, again, what have we learned about Nixon and Winters and how does that help us catch a murderer?”

Toye had a solid point. Buck trusted his tactics and welcomed them gladly. He wasn’t irritated with either of the homicide detectives, but with how his own experience wasn’t much of use in this area. He liked financial stuff and playing with numbers, and all he wanted from this case was to finally wipe the White-Collar Department’s slate clean of the Nixon case. He could rationally understand the deep contempt and frustration Toye and Guarnere had for the hitman, but to Buck the hitman was just one more dirty trick the Nixon family had pulled: It was their money, their hire, and targets that they had ordered, thus it was their fault, even if Nixon hadn’t pulled the trigger or held the knife himself.

This was the third generation of the family wreaking havoc and locking horns with their department: Buck couldn’t stand the thought of being one more loser. 

He forced himself to trust Toye on this, trust him to be an ally, and considered his question. He tried to be serious, but came up with only a dry remark: “It makes me wonder how in hell Winters is married to this guy.”

He meant it half as a joke, but Toye nodded, entirely serious.

“That’s what I thought. These are not staged scenes. These are not bi-monthly date nights, or anything extravagant and expensive,” he said. “This is a couple who chooses to spend a lot of casual time together every day, and they look happy while at it. Someone genuinely loves someone here, perhaps even them both.”

“Okay? And you’re thinking… That Winters knows or doesn’t know that his partner is a criminal?”

“I don’t think that’s important at all,” Toye said and finally set the stack of photos on the table. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “I think it’s important to consider what he’d do for his partner in either case.”

Buck hadn’t considered that, and suddenly everything they had put into surveillance was paying itself back. He had been stuck in pondering about the setting itself, wondering how it had come to be and what it was truly like, and doing so he had neglected the effects of the relationship on the situation and what they might make either of the men do if it was to shift. 

“He knew to expect the police when Lip and I went there,” Buck noted. “He didn’t look concerned about that.”

“So he either knows and approves, doesn’t care, or Nixon has told him a very good lie,” Toye said, thinking aloud and counting each option with his fingers.

“But we did offer him help if they should need it,” Buck continued. “We hinted that Nixon might be in trouble, which, given how volatile dealings with mobs are, he is. That was when he looked worried and asked for our contact info.” 

“Bingo,” Toye said, snapping his fingers. “Whatever their story is, Winters might want to protect Nixon. I think it’s safe to say that even if he ends up dumping him, he doesn’t want him to die. He just might do something Nixon doesn’t want him to if he thinks that’ll help him.” 

Buck found new energy in himself too, already thinking ahead on what they could do to push the situation to that point. “I don’t think we can just show up and visit him again. Winters might not be afraid to talk to us, but considering how Nixon prickled at the mere hint that we might involve his partner, he wouldn’t let us do that again.” 

“That’s another thing,” Toye said. “Nixon wants to keep Winters out of this and threatened us with his lawyers last time. According to Winters, he doesn’t talk about work with him. This could give us a good opening to get our own version of the events to him.” 

“So. We just got to figure out a way to turn up the heat a bit until something boils over,” Buck said. “The worst thing for us would be if everyone just stayed still and silent. That’s how they all get away with this. But if someone talks, even just a little, or makes one wrong move, the whole thing unravels.”

Toye looked pleased now that he and Buck were on the same page. “Nixon doesn’t talk to Winters, Nixon and his clients certainly don’t have any kind of a trusting relationship, and our filthy murdering friend doesn’t owe loyalty to anyone. There’s a Jenga tower we gotta knock over.”

Buck huffed a laugh at Toye’s dry wit. He was convinced that he didn’t even mean to be funny, he just naturally was from time to time when he let his playful side out. But simply focusing on the effects didn’t satisfy Buck or the uneasy feeling that just wouldn’t leave him be. “Yeah. But I have a weird feeling about this.”

“I bet you do,” Toye allowed, unbothered. 

Buck thought back to their visit to the penthouse. “He seemed so nice. So… Normal. I don’t understand how Winters is with a guy like Nixon? How does one end up in a situation like that? His background is so normal. And I mean… You’ve served too, Joe. How does one go from a soldier to a trophy husband?”

It was another throw-away line, but Toye seemed to take it entirely seriously. His forehead wrinkled as he pondered on his answer like nothing less than perfectly honest wouldn’t do. 

“What I can tell you is that a lot of people enlist, for many reasons. Some for right ones, some less so. I know I just wanted to get out of that dying little town and make something of myself. Army might do that for you, be it training or the experience or the befits. But man, I didn’t even end up getting that college degree before ending up here,” he said with a gloomy frown on his face and eyes focused on the table. He looked lost in thought for a moment, and Buck had a moment to regret bringing it up in the first place before Toye shook himself awake and put on a carefree face. 

“Well, anyway. The point is, I wouldn’t draw any conclusions about Winters based on his service in the army. Other than assuming that he knows how to use a gun.”

*

Night flights were cheaper than those during the day but still the cabin was barely half full. The plane was making its way smoothly across the Atlantic Ocean back towards America, the lights were dimmed down and most people were asleep. 

Lew was dozing off against Dick’s shoulder, but Dick was awake. He hadn’t made a habit of letting his guard down in public places no matter how closed off, and especially not when the person he was with was letting down his. The darkness out meant that the window didn’t offer much in the sense of scenery, but Dick used it as a mirror to keep tabs on the movement inside the cabin.

Lew’s head was a comfortable weight on his shoulder. Lew was slumping on his seat and had gradually almost climbed over the armrest between them to lean on Dick as much as possible, head pillowed on his shoulder and his arm in Dick’s lap, hand resting on his knee. His breathing was steady and deep, but occasionally he stirred awake enough to pet Dick’s knee. 

Even if Dick wasn’t in charge of guarding their safety, he would have still stayed awake just so that he could imprint every moment to his memory. These were their last hours together. In the morning they would arrive in the US, Lew would go home, Dick’s contract would end, and he would disappear like had been agreed with Lew’s father. His heart was heavy thinking of the impending separation, and he longed to pull Lew close and wrap him up in his arms so that his entire body could remember the feel of him – or better yet, wrap him up like that and never let him go. 

Dick’s heart was thumping painfully at the thought, but he controlled himself. This would have to do, and besides it was more than he deserved. He stared into the darkness outside, then let his eyes focus on his reflection. He barely recognized himself underneath the unfamiliar veil of exhaustion and sadness. 

Lew shifted in his sleep, his head nearly slipping from Dick’s shoulder, but he caught him in time and gently cradled his head into the crook of his neck. Once he had turned to Lew it was impossible to look away. Very carefully so that he wouldn’t disturb his slumber Dick allowed himself to rest his lips in Lew’s hair for a moment, then gave in altogether and let himself linger there with his nose buried in the soft waves of dark hair. He breathed in Lew’s scent, soft and sleepy, and felt a throb of something soft and tender inside his chest that he couldn’t help but cherish because soon all that would be left of it was the ache. 

Quietly in his mind Dick thanked God for allowing him this sweetness that was Lew, for allowing him to have and love something so pure for a little while. If anything, Dick was relieved that he was still capable of feelings like this. 

The hand on his knee gave a squeeze and started to pet him, too strong and in rhythm to be done asleep. 

Dick sighed and pressed another kiss to Lew’s hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.” 

“’s alright,” Lew mumbled, “I wouldn’t want to sleep anyway.”

Dick chuckled. “You, refusing sleep? Unheard of.”

Lew laughed too and didn’t make a single move to straighten himself up. If anything, he shifted closer, but didn’t let himself doze off again. He drew circles on Dick’s knee, and after a moment of oppressive silence continued seriously: “But tonight is special. It’s our last night together. I don’t want to waste that.” 

The flicker of amusement had distracted Dick from his aching heart, but now the feeling flared up again. “We both knew that temporary was the name of the game from the beginning,” he said so reasonably he hated himself for managing it. 

“Hm. Yeah,” Lew begrudgingly admitted. “Doesn’t mean that I like this.” 

It wasn’t a question, but it had a note of vulnerability to it that invited reassurance, so Dick echoed the feeling: “I don’t like it either.” 

Lew squeezed his knee again, then slid his hand up Dick’s thigh. On any other day it would have been erotic, but tonight it was just casually intimate, a testament to how close they were, even if Lew’s affection had an anxious feel to it. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. We could just… Just board another plane somewhere and keep going. No one would have to know, let’s just elope and keep going,” he insisted.

Dick hummed a little laugh, endeared. It was a sweet dream, and the fact that Lew spoke of it with such a small, desperate voice felt like another blessing that Dick hadn’t believed there could be. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of Lew’s head to comfort him while he talked sense: “I would love to, Lew, I really would. But we can’t. You have your family and your business, and I got to leave to find another job.”

Lew groaned. “So many forces are tearing us apart, sweetheart,” he sighed theatrically and rolled his head on his shoulder. “Family, duty, money… International laws.” 

“Truly the devil’s work, those ones,” Dick said. They were quiet for a while, and in that silence Dick swore he could physically feel the seconds going by, a timer ticking down on them. Maybe it was the deadline rushing closer to them that made him want to speak up. He wouldn’t have a chance like ever again in his life. “Lew. I want you to know that I will remember this. This job – _You_, you have made me so happy. I didn’t even know one could feel like this, and then along came you. I’ll never forget you and how you loved someone like me.”

“Goddammit, Dick, don’t say things like that,” Lew muttered, his voice suddenly thick. “I’m going to miss you so much.” His hand searched out Dick’s, laced their fingers together and held on tight. “You know I don’t care about how different we are, right? I don’t care what my father says, or what anyone says. You’ve been so good to me, better than anyone.”

Dick felt his throat squeezing shut and he had to stare to the ceiling for a moment. Who was Lew to tell him to keep his feelings to himself if he was going to spout out things like that? 

“You make me feel human,” Dick confessed in a whisper.

“You make me feel worth something,” Lew whispered in return. 

They sat quietly for a while, still holding hands as if that could stop time and keep them flying forever. Lew pressed into Dick’s side a bit tighter, and Dick put his arm around Lew’s shoulder. In the dim light and flying somewhere above an ocean it felt like they were the only two people in the world. 

Dick closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in Lew’s scent, concentrated on how his body felt against his and hoped that were true.

Lew’s voice was almost non-existent and hoarse when he whispered: “Do you want to leave at all?”

Dick pressed his cheek against the top of his head. “Not a bit.” 

Lew seemed to relax against him as if he had been just a little bit afraid that Dick wanted to leave him. The mere thought was absurd. Dick thought about how in a few hours he would have to walk away from Lew and how it would probably be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do. He felt stupid and selfish for that, as if his broken heart meant anything to anyone, but that was the greatest pain he could imagine and that was that.

Lew pet his knuckles with his thumb. “I love you,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. If the cabin hadn’t been so totally silent, Dick wouldn’t have heard him.

The words cut through him like a knife to the heart and probably just as painful. But there was bliss as well. “I love you, too,” he said back. The words felt heavy and somehow wrong on his tongue like he was blaspheming, but he meant them, and Lew deserved to be certain. Dick needed him to know. 

Lew gave his hand a particularly hard squeeze. Then he tensed up again, shifted a bit as if trying to upright himself. His shoulder pushed suddenly against Dick’s arm and his head lifted, removing the weight from Dick’s shoulder. It was like he had stirred from his sleepy cuddling mood into full alertness even though he didn’t stop leaning on him. 

“Dick?” Lew asked.

“Yeah?” 

“Will you marry me?” 

It took a moment for the words to truly sink in, and when they did, Dick leaned back on his seat enough to turn his head down to look at Lew. Their gazes met as Lew had wrung his neck enough to stare up at Dick from where he was nestled to his side, and his big brown eyes were wide open and more serious than ever. 

“What?” Dick asked. 

“I said, will you marry me, Richard Winters?” Lew repeated, this time with certainty that left no room for doubt.

“I heard you alright, just… What? What are you talking about?” Dick asked, struggling with the words since his breath had suddenly rushed out and refused to return. 

Lew in turn tightened his grip on his hand and with a determined spark in his eyes. “Just think about it. I don’t want you to go and you don’t want to leave. If that’s how both of us feel, then why should we give it up? Because I want to be with you for real, and I want to be with you forever. So marry me?” 

Dick’s heart stuttered in his chest. He felt trembling and weak in each joint as if he was about to come apart at any moment. He blinked and blinked but didn’t seem to clear his vision any more than his thoughts. “But… But Lew. That’s impossible! Your work, your family… Not to mention my work. My contract is finished, I have to find something else now…” 

But Lew was as relentless as always when he got an idea, shaking his head firmly. “I don’t care what my family says. This is about you and me and no one else. I’m willing to fight for this.” 

It was lovely idea, Dick had to admit. It was like a dream, and he wanted it to be true, but he was a realist. “But I… My life isn’t like yours. I can’t just decide something crazy like that and then just make the world around me fit into it.”

“Then take care of whatever needs to be taken care of and then come back to me. We’ll get rings at the airport and then I’ll wait for you, for years if I must. When you’re ready, just come back and I’ll have you and you’ll never have to leave again.” Lew sounded nothing like his usual aloof self who liked to speak up grand ideas on one moment and toss them aside the next. He sounded so certain of himself, like he was swearing an oath. 

“But my work…” Dick still resisted. Lew was so pure, in his own way, that he might have as well been from another world. And Dick, Dick was not. Dick was so ordinary, and he had nothing but his string of jobs and his dirty hands. 

“You wouldn’t have to keep working if you were with me,” Lew insisted, “I would support you. You said it yourself, that I make you feel good and like you’re healing. If you marry me, I promise I’ll keep healing you forever.” 

Lew really was stubborn. Either this was another example of how quickly he thought on his feet and how planning just came to him naturally, or he had thought about this before, maybe just dreamed but seriously enough to have a counter-argument to every objection Dick could convince himself that mattered. Either way, Dick was in awe of him. 

Dick had to stare to the ceiling again. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to force himself under control. If he let go now, there was no telling what he might do. He might even cry.

“Lew?” he asked, voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”


	12. Shot through the heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took some work, but I'm pleased to bring it now! I just wanted it to be good, so here I am, several rewrites later. It was also fun to browse google image search and instagram for some Chicago moods.
> 
> Thank you for your kudos and comments on previous chapters, I really appreciate them! Hopefully you'll leave more of those in the future, they make my day every time.

When the Friday came Lipton worried considerably less about everything, going for casual clothes and his usual jacket. He wondered more about what they’d be doing, but instead of nervous he waited for the surprise with anticipation. He wondered where a guy like Speirs would take him and briefly thought about his friends’ jabs about taxidermy and shooting ranges, but decided that either would be just fine as long as they were together. 

When the agreed hour came, Speirs was already waiting for him in front of his parked car, a faint smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. Like last time he opened the car door for Lipton before getting into the driver’s seat.

Speirs had gone for more casual clothes too this time, just jeans and a dark leather jacket that with its belt and sheep fur collar brought in mind a bomber pilot. Lipton got comfortable on his seat and fastened his seatbelt. “So. What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Speirs shrugged and looked uncertain for a moment, and Lipton knew immediately he’d love whatever he had in mind. 

“I’d like to take you up North to a marketplace there. It looked lovely in the pictures, and we won’t even have to buy anything, just stroll and talk.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Lipton agreed. 

After untangling themselves from traffic and clearing their way to Northern suburbia, it was easy going. It was easier to breathe outside the densest city area, and after parking the car they had to walk a few blocks. They came near the Michigan-lake, where a large open space by a walking avenue had been turned into a little village of tents and stalls draped in strings of light to brighten the darkening early winter.

They stopped by the first stall that sold hot drinks, and Speirs insisted on buying them both tall drinks of coffee with chocolate, whipped cream and caramel, and Lipton didn’t see any reason to refuse. 

They strolled through the marketplace that was in the middle of transition between Thanksgiving and Christmas, half the stalls mixing both and some already in the full holiday spirit, creating an interesting blend of orange and red and green. There seemed to be something of a vintage theme to the event, which Lipton found passingly charming, but Speirs seemed to absolutely love. 

They stopped by every tent and stall to browse through old books and records as well as second-hand clothing ranging from 1960s all the way back to1890s.

“Do you have a special interest in this stuff, like a hobby?” Lipton asked when they lingered by a tent that sold exclusively vintage radios and record players, and Speirs seemed absolutely enamored by the selection. 

“Yeah,” Speirs confessed, a bit sheepishly. “A lot of it reminds me of my grandparents. I like the aesthetic too, and there’s just something romantic about a record that scratches a little.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lipton admitted after a moment of thought.

Speirs threw him an impish smile. “History was my favorite subject at school. If I had gone to college, I would have majored in it.”

“Wouldn’t the military have paid for it, though?” Lipton asked curiously. He had a feeling they had talked very openly about fairly personal matters on their last date but hadn’t bothered with everyday life’s little challenges and particularities. Now their talking points were a mixture of private and basic, creating a bit of a challenging terrain.

Speirs’ smile strained a bit and he shrugged, setting the radio he had been inspecting down and taking Lipton by the arm to continue their stroll. His hold was an obviously romantic gesture with no shame or pretenses to it, but it was gentler than it needed to be, like he was afraid of grasping too tightly. “That would have been just for the first two years, not the whole degree. I would have needed the whole degree,” he explained. “No, I opted out of college and chose to pursue work on the skills I already got from the army.” 

Lipton leaned into his side. He had been struggling under his own student debt for a decade and still wasn’t done with it, but even though he had chosen police academy over graduate school, he still considered his college degree an important milestone. “Do you regret your choice?” he asked. 

Speirs turned to smile at him. There may have been a hint of sadness in his eyes, a burden of missed opportunities from the past, but his hold on Lipton’s arm tightened and the smile was genuine. “No. It led me to you, and I’m glad to be here.” 

The cold air had already bitten Lipton’s cheeks red, but together with the sweet drink and Speirs’ tender charm he felt warm. “Yeah, me too.” 

When they had finished their coffees and walked the whole market through it was still an early evening. They had warm clothes on, but it was starting to get chilly, foretelling a winter only a few weeks away. Walking around had repelled the cold for some time, but Lipton was starting to shiver, which Speirs seemed to notice.

“Would you like to go back to the car?” he offered while rubbing his arm to ease the chill.

Lipton wouldn’t have minded getting into a car and turning the heat up, but he worried that saying yes would also pass an unintentional signal that he wanted the date to over and go home. He didn’t know how to form that into words or what else he’d suggest, but Speirs seemed to read his mind: “We could go for a drive.”

Lipton smiled into his coat’s collar. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” Speirs said with an obviously pleased warmth. “Do you want food?” 

The suggestion seemed like an odd addition to the previous plan, and Lipton tilted his head with uncertainty. “What, in the car?” 

Speirs shrugged. “Yeah, takeout. I know we ate nice food from a proper kitchen last week, but there’s plenty of really good stuff that comes out of a grill in ten minutes.”

Lipton hummed a laugh. “Sure, I’m all for that. As long as I can get fries.”

“You can get all the fries you want.” 

They ended up getting a pizza with fries on the side, an unconventional but good combination, and they split both. They didn’t drive through the downtown again but stuck to the suburban neighborhoods, driving past fancy houses and smaller homes with tidy lawns, before they found a vacant spot by a closed down park near the river where they parked. From their spot they could see the river and its languidly flowing dark waters and the lights of the city in the distance illuminating the night sky like a sickly halo. 

It was surprisingly cozy in the car, private and warm with the radio playing low while they shared food. Passing the pizza box and just talking reminded Lipton weirdly of childhood sleepovers, innocent and exciting at the same time. 

At one point when Lipton was fiddling with the radio trying to find a station with a less talkative host, Speirs forgot about himself for a moment and just watched him. He was leaning his elbow on the side door window, and with his head tilted simply studied Lipton like there was some sort of a puzzle to be solved that way.

“What?” Lipton asked when he noticed, self-consciously brushing the corners of his mouth for loose sauce or spice. 

Speirs shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just happy that you asked me out with you. I didn’t think you’d go for me. I feel lucky.” 

Lipton blinked in surprise. He had pegged himself the lucky one in this affair. “How come?” he asked.

Speirs let out an amused huff, endeared by the question. “You have no idea how good you are, do you? Everyone thinks you’re the most just and capable detective there is, someone who’s reliable and resilient but also modest. You are there for others, and no matter what, you won’t let your friends and colleagues down. And you were friendly to me, even though I know I’m not a very likable guy.”

All the sudden praise with the implication that this was what people thought and said about Lipton made him blush, but he latched onto the last part what Speirs said about himself as it took him by surprise. “You’re plenty likable. There’s just something different about you, but that’s a good thing. And I like you,” he insisted.

Speirs kept smiling at him, but his eyes lowered from his face to the dashboard. “I’m a bit baffled that you do,” he confessed. “I know I’m a reclusive guy and I don’t make friends easily. I’m rarely liked. And it’s not that I don’t like that about myself, it’s not exactly breaking my heart that I’m not the life of a party, that’s just who I am, but…” He paused, licked his lips, searched for words. “I suppose I’ve been lonely, for a while.”

Lipton swallowed. He felt achingly soft inside, and a sudden urge to reach over and touch Speirs washed over him. “I’ve been lonely too,” he confessed with a quiet voice. 

Speirs’ gaze snapped back to Lipton then, his eyes wide in surprise. 

Lipton smiled meekly and shrugged. “I’m happy that people think I do good work and that they can rely on me, but that doesn’t make us friends. I don’t feel connected with them, not like I feel connected with my real friends, or how I’d like to connect with a partner. That would take someone special, someone who sees me as I am.” 

Speirs held his gaze for a long moment, strangely open and searching his for something. Then he picked up the empty pizza box between them, hauled it carelessly in the backseat and leaned over to Lipton’s side. His intention was clear, and Lipton was already meeting him in the middle when Speirs muttered: “I’d like to kiss you now.”

“Yes,” Lipton breathed between them, and then they already were. 

It was a bit like their first kiss at first, dry and soft, but only for the few first moves of lips against lips. After the first testing tastes they pulled apart just slightly, their noses still brushing and breaths mingling, wordlessly communicating with each other. Then Speirs parted his lips and dived in again, this time capturing Lipton in a kiss that pulled him under so shockingly fast that it made him gasp into the kiss. Speirs’ hand came up to cradle his jaw, stroking along the jawline for a moment before slipping behind his neck to hold him in place while the other came to rest on his clavicle. 

Lipton felt captivated, captured somehow, and a thrill ran down his spine at it. It had been a long time since he’d been like this with anyone, and he was fairly sure he’d never been kissed like this, and all of it made him melt against Speirs and part his lips in surrender. 

Speirs kissed him, deep and firm but slow in a patient sort of way, and each movement of his lips was like a soft bite, drawing on and on, forcing Lipton to race him to keep up. The kiss grew wetter and more heated but no more urgent, mostly because Speirs didn’t let it. Lipton was grasping at the lapels of his jacket, hanging onto him with his breath huffing heavily between them, and still Speirs held him in place, steady like the tide. There was a fire kindling in his gut, Lipton felt it flaring and curling low in his belly and filling him with its light and sparks.

That tide kept on coming, and finally when Lipton didn’t know whether he was floating or drowning he pulled back with a gasp, leaning his forehead to Speirs’. Their breathing was loud.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d like you to take me home now.”

“Of course.”

The drive back was silent save for the radio. Speirs drove just as steadily and according to traffic rules as he always did like nothing was affecting him at all, not even Lipton and his hand that rested on his thigh, absently stroking the inseam of his trousers. 

They parked in a spot by Lipton’s building, and Speirs turned the engine and the lights off. They were left in suddenly total silence under a streetlight, and Speirs turned his head towards Lipton, who was leaning back on his seat without any intention of getting out of the car. His hand was still on Speirs’ thigh and his head turned towards him. 

Distantly Lipton recognized how unusual this situation was for him, but still he felt strangely confident in it. His heart was pounding, hard and decisive, and the fire lit earlier was still circling in his veins like alcohol but instead of dizzying it made everything clear.

“Would you like to come up?” he asked softly.

He saw the tip of Speirs’ tongue flicking out from between his lips to wet his lower lip. “I would,” he answered. 

One more moment they sat still and staring at each other before they moved, both getting out of the car. Speirs locked the doors and then together they walked across the street to the door of the apartment building. 

It was silent when they took the elevator up, and in front of his door Lipton momentarily fumbled with his keys before getting the door open. 

The one-bedroom apartment wasn’t too shabby looking when he flicked the light on, a little bit lived in but that was okay, and even if it hadn’t been Lipton couldn’t bring himself be self-conscious about it right now. The only thing he bothered with was to cross the living-room space to the windows and close the blinds, shutting out most of the city lights and the possible nosy strangers living across the street, and when Lipton turned back towards the room he noticed that Speirs had followed him. 

They lingered in the living-room, standing opposite of each other just slightly too close to be casual. 

“So. This is where I live,” Lipton muttered, gesturing to the living-room and the open kitchen they were standing in.

“Yeah. It’s nice,” Speirs replied without looking. 

Lipton held his breath and waited, watching Speirs hovering on his feet, wound up and testing the waters again. Slowly he inched across the narrow gap of empty air between them, with his hand first like a blind man feeling for his path, the tips of his fingers meeting Lipton’s collarbone and the palm pressing to his chest just a moment later. Speirs studied him with his strangely bright eyes, watching his reaction as he followed his own outstretched arm and slowly inched into Lipton’s space, his other hand coming to touch his ribs and slipping down to his hip, and pressed his own body against his. 

Lipton returned Speirs’ steady gaze and curved his body into something he could fit himself against, welcoming him easily and relaxing into his warmth. There was something winding up between them, like a coil twisting and heating up, glowing red-hot and leaving both of them burning.

Speirs tilted his head and leaned closer to Lipton, his hands landing on his hips, firm but too cautious to take a hold. The tip of his nose brushed against Lipton’s cheek before his lips found his jaw and kissed him gently, almost too light to feel. 

Lipton sighed under the tender caress and let his arms slip around Speirs. He turned his head to look for a proper kiss, and when lips found lips again he allowed himself melt against Speirs. They kissed, soft and deep, let the contact slip for a second and then dived in again for another one. 

For fractions of seconds between kisses their breaths mixed between them, and it was like breathing life into glowing embers, igniting a new flame. Desire flared up, glowing and hungry like before, but now they were closer and truly alone, in the safety of the home with the blinds shut and flush up against each other from lips to thighs.

Speirs was an eager but heartachingly tender kisser. He drew Lipton into kiss after kiss, nipping his lower lip lightly and offering the tip of his tongue while his hand grew restless on his waist. He squeezed every now and then but loosened his grip almost immediately as if he suddenly catching himself doing it and reining himself back.

The teasing made Lipton stir-crazy. Kissing Speirs was sweet, but his body was hot, and he wanted closer. He wanted that grip on his hips, he wanted to remove all barriers still between them, and he wanted to have Speirs as close as possible. He tried pushing into his hold and ended up rocking against Speirs with his hip, which coaxed out a little noise and encouraged Lipton to keep it up. He felt indecent, daring and feverish from head to toe, and when he grasped Speirs’ shoulders he found he was trembling too, with excitement and nerves both, and the way Speirs made deep noises in the back of his throat as he moved against him made him feel unbearably wanton and eager.

It was too much, and Lipton pulled back from the wet kiss to speak. “Ron?” 

Speirs groaned in protest and chased his mouth, claiming him into a new kiss that Lipton had to turn his head away from.

“Ron, let’s –”

“What?” Speirs muttered, only half listening. Denied the mouth, his lips slipped to Lipton’s jaw and continued down his neck.

Lipton gasped at the caress of a tongue and the gentle suction. “Come to the bedroom,” he managed and then pushed harder against him, steering him into the right direction. The invitation made Speirs suck in a breath, and suddenly he was light on his feet too. 

The bedroom was even darker than the rest of the apartment as Lipton hadn’t opened the blinds or the curtains in the morning, and the bed was unmade. He had a low double bed with a simple wooden frame and a thick mattress, and now he dragged Speirs into the mess of sheets and blankets and pillows. 

The mattress gave a protesting groan when they fell on it, but neither paid it any mind. They found each other in the nest of covers and pillows easily and searched another kiss. Speirs pushed his hand under Lipton’s shirt, and the sudden contact of fingertips on his belly made Lipton gasp, unintentionally opening the kiss for tongue. He gasped again when he felt the caress on the inside of his mouth, panted against the other’s lips and squirmed on his place, helping his shirt ride up more. 

Speirs pushed his hand up higher, creeping across the belly and slipping on the side, stroking over his ribs and coming back to draw patterns on his chest. Lipton felt his entire body being explored and mapped out, infuriatingly gently and thoroughly, but no matter how he bucked and shifted, Speirs wouldn't yank his shirt fully off. 

“Here,” Lipton said against the other’s lips, then pushed his hands between them and arched his back to pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it off the bed and lay back down, finding himself facing a still fully clothed Speirs and nervously licked his lips. He felt like he was getting ahead of himself, but he didn’t have to feel vulnerable alone for long as Speirs blinked and seemed to snap out of something, then sat up and without much ceremony got rid of his own shirt.

The blinds were shut but allowed thin rays of city light through, covering Speirs in stripes of darkness and bluish light as he crawled over to Lipton on his hands and knees. A shiver went down Lipton’s spine as he watched the muscles working under Speirs’ skin and leaned back to allow the man stalk closer and loom over him like a hunting jungle cat.

There was seemingly no end to the teasing, but while Lipton squirmed under the tender treatment with every hair on his body standing up, it occurred to him to think of it as careful. Speirs wasn’t by any means shy, but that was the only term that seemed to fit the way he kept his touch light and his body just a bit off Lipton, never pressing down or grabbing too tightly.

Lipton’s heart gave a painful throb full of longing and affection, and he arched up towards Speirs. 

“Ron, it’s alright,” he assured him and stressed his point by with touching Speirs’ back, its lean muscles and beautiful slope, “you can touch me. I want you to touch me.” He ran his hands up and down, every time going just a little bit lower until he was thumbing at the dips on his lower back. 

“I am touching you,” Speirs answered with his lips against his collarbone. He sounded just slightly baffled, almost uncertain, like he genuinely didn’t understand the point.

Lipton huffed with amusement, then used his hands on Speirs’ lower back to press him down to sit across his hips. He wasn’t even shy about his obvious hard-on, just let out a relieved sigh at getting the other more firmly against him. “There,” he sighed and rolled his hips up. “Come on.”

Still Speirs hesitated, and so Lipton ran his hands upwards, up his sides and down his arms and took a hold of his hands, bringing them to his bare chest. He covered Speirs’ hands with his own, pressed them down firmly and squeezed.

“Oh,” Speirs groaned, a thin little noise that slipped out of his mouth, and it was like a veil had finally been torn away from between them.

It was like they thought the same thing at the same time and started to strip the rest of their clothes. Belts came undone and jeans were shoved out of the way, kicked away with the socks and underwear, all banished from the bed.

Speirs naked was a beautiful sight. He was lean and tough-looking, and when he crawled towards Lipton with all of his pale skin covered in stripes of dark and bluish glow and his green eyes glowing with hungry fire, Lipton shuddered and wondered whom he had actually taken to his bed. 

Speirs kissed his chest, his shoulders, his neck and then his lips again, and Lipton reached out with clammy palms to stroke the flanks of the tiger on him. He shivered with arousal, his blood pumping so hot in his veins his skin shimmered with its heat. It was a bizarre blend of innocent and erotic to trade such soft kisses with their bare erections between them, not touching yet but impossible to ignore.

Lipton stroked up Speirs’ flanks, the line of his shoulders and the beautiful curve of his biceps. He opened his eyes that he didn’t remember closing and saw his own arms with the same stripes as Speirs. With his eyes heavy-lidded he brushed a little tender kiss across the other man’s lips and inhaled his scent. “How do you want to go about this?” he muttered in the dark.

Speirs’ eyes opened and looked straight at him, full of carnal hunger but also deep yearning that made Lipton’s heart ache. He wanted to appease that, whatever it took. His blood sang. 

“I want you just like this. I want to please you however you want it,” Speirs replied with serious eyes. His hand rose from the sheets and landed on Lipton’s knee, then started to tease its way up his thigh. 

Lipton shuddered under the featherlight caress and sank onto his back. “Yes,” he sighed even though nothing had been asked. He sank back easily and opened his arms, welcoming Speirs who crouched down and against him easily, finding his place between his spread legs. 

They both jolted at the first full-body contact and immediately groaned in unison at the resulting friction, their voices clear in the small room. It was a deliciously intimate feeling to have someone else’s naked body so close, even if it was just simple contact, and the wave of pleasure was so powerful that Lipton had closed his eyes. Then Speirs rolled their hips together again, the rigid shafts of their cocks sliding across their bellies and catching together, and Lipton’s eyes flew open. 

Even in the darkness Speirs’ mouth was red. It was open and so close to him, white teeth behind his lips, and his eyes were hazy with pleasure. Locking eyes that close made Lipton’s heart jump into his throat and he felt his whole body tremble with tension. Speirs’ dark hair was messy and falling into his eyes, and Lipton wanted to run his hands through it but couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Speirs rolled his hips once again, with more force this time and his panting mouth pulled into a snarl. He wasn’t stunned by pleasure, he was driven by it. “Tell me. Tell me what you want,” he hissed out, hips thrusting and his head lolling to the side when the movement sparked more desire between them.

Lipton hugged him close. He could barely think. “I want – I want – I want you on me just as you are.” Just like this, just him this close, this hot, this strong, this passionate. Lipton felt the heat rushing through him and drowning out all precaution. He wanted to surrender and feel everything Speirs could give him. He wanted to be loved until he was bruised.

Speirs breathed in like he was savoring him, then nuzzled his face into his neck. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

Lipton groaned at the mere question. Just him talking like that, his voice dark and thick with need, was thrilling and made heat pool in the bottom of his belly. “Yeah, yeah, a little bit. But I want you on top of me,” he replied hoarsely.

“Oh, I’d love that.” Speirs really sounded like he did. He was already moving down on the bed, and Lipton spread his legs to give him room to get comfortable between them.

He laughed, just out of joy, his fingers in Speirs hair as if he needed that touch to know where he was. 

Speirs just hummed. He settled between his legs, hands caressing his thighs and pressing kisses on his stomach, his pelvis, his thighs, and then up, up, closer and each brush of lips somehow burning more than the one before. Against the tender skin of his inner thigh Lipton felt it all clearly, the dry brush of the chapped lip as well as the wet caress of its inside. 

It turned out that Speirs really did like the scars. The scar itself was numb, but still Lipton felt Speirs rubbing his cheek on it before caressing it with his lips and tongue, lapping at it like a fresh wound that needed to be soothed, never shying away or flinching. And then he left it with a one last kiss and finally put his mouth where they both wanted it the most and started to suck. 

Lipton slammed his head back into a pillow and gasped. It had been so long since he’d last felt a mouth on him that he had forgotten how good it felt. His chest felt empty and it felt like he couldn’t suck in enough air. His fingers scrambled in Speirs’ hair and shoulders as he writhed under him, so much that Speirs took a tight hold of his hips to steady him.

Speirs hummed with his mouth full, and the tremor went through Lipton’s body, making him whine. He could finally breathe, but it was erratic and wild; in went greedy gulps of air, and out came whines and moans. He couldn’t lie still, not even with Speirs hands holding him and petting along his thighs like trying to sooth him. If Speirs wanted him to lie still, he shouldn’t have curled his tongue like that and suckled his cock between his lips like he did, and really he had only himself to blame that he had his hands and mouth full with a thrashing man. 

But the caress of his mouth was aimless, it stayed calm and slow and just languidly suckled and lapped at him, never intending to bring him off. This wasn’t nervousness anymore, this was shameless teasing, and when Lipton once again had his hips pressed down into the mattress, he let out a pained groan.

Speirs pulled off of him and chuckled, then laid a wet kiss on his lower belly. Lipton gathered his breath for a moment before he looked down, seeing Speirs’ dark-haired head resting on his belly with a grin on his face. 

“You said you didn’t want to get off like this,” Speirs teased, running his hands up Lipton’s sweaty flanks. 

Lipton wanted to quip back something witty, but he was too wound up and could do little more than pant and run his fingers through Speirs’ hair. “Just… Just come here,” he called. 

The grin slipped from Speirs face and was replaced with that single-minded hungry focus again, and Lipton felt a rush of power in having invoked that. Crawling up the bed with the stripes of light glowing on his naked skin Speirs looked like a predator again, and Lipton decided he wouldn’t mind getting caught between his paws and mauled. 

Speirs kissed his way up his body, and Lipton let his hand slip from his hair down his neck and chest the closer he came. Close up he realized that Speirs was just as aroused and impatient as he was, that sucking him off had been a pleasure to him and that with his hands grasping his hips he had maybe rubbed himself off against the sheets, but nothing more than that. 

Speirs dragged a tongue along Lipton’s chest, gathering up droplets of sweat while his hands took a hold of him, and Lipton sighed when he was rolled onto his stomach. 

Speirs pressed down on his back, kissed his nape and breathed into his hair, and slotted their bodies together. Lipton hummed with excitement and nerves when he was pressed into the mattress and felt the wet tip of a cock rubbing against the back of his thighs. Speirs huffed a shivering breath against the shell of his ear, and Lipton reached behind him to pull him closer from his hip. 

Speirs hummed, his voice low and breathless. Lipton rocked up against him, and the muffled noise turned into a keen. “Do you have something to slick the way?” he asked. 

“Yeah, it’s just – uh,” Lipton had intended to crawl to his bedside table to fetch the bottle of lube he kept there, but found that Speirs wouldn’t let him get away, just squished him into the mattress. He pointed a finger instead. “The top drawer.” 

Speirs kept a palm in the middle of his back and leaned over him, following the instructions. He opened the drawer and found what they needed immediately, pulling out a clear bottle of lubricant. He straightened up and disappeared from Lipton’s field of vision again, but he heard the lid of the bottle pop open. 

Wet fingers pushing between his thighs made him jolt and gasp, and Speirs pressed along his back with his lips on his neck to hush him. Lipton shuddered at the decadency and the intimacy of having lube fingered between his thighs and grounded his heated mind by reaching back to grasp Speirs by his waist and surrendering his neck to his tongue and teeth. 

They rolled onto their sides and fit together easily. Speirs pulled Lipton to his chest and secured him in a tight embrace and thrusted his cock between the slick thighs, moaning low and heated at the clench, breath tickling Lipton’s ear. 

They found a rocking rhythm easily, falling together in their mutual chase of pleasure. Their bodies became one in the movement, and some distant anxiety melted away from the back of Lipton’s mind; he still got it, his body knew this dance and he could do this. He was making this good for Speirs, and having the other man press his head against his temple and planting sloppy kisses along his neck while he panted was so good he couldn’t have dreamed anything better. 

Speirs held him tightly, but after getting a few rough thrusts in he calmed down, just a bit but enough to slip his warm, slippery hand between Lipton’s legs and took a hold of his cock. Lipton moaned and his voice broke. If it had been good before, now it was perfect. They rocked together, feet seeking grip from the sheets and bodies curled up together, arms around each other and pleasure shimmering across their sweaty skin. 

It was pleasure from every direction. The wet grip on his cock was perfect and pulled moan after moan out of him, but it was just as good to squeeze down with his thighs and rock his body back against the other man, the movement in itself carnal. 

Lipton decided he loved Speirs’ hair when he turned his head and buried his face in it, smelling traces of shampoo and under it a much stronger natural scent. He loved Speirs’ strong sides and hips and thighs that he felt under his palm when he reached behind him and caressed everything he could find, following the lines of muscles keeping the pumping rhythm up. He loved his strong arms locked around him and he loved his tending hand, and he loved laying there with him and allowing him to take pleasure from his body. 

He loved everything, everything about the moment and the man with him, he loved it when his heart pounded and his throat turned raw and sweat ran down his body. 

It was heated but gentle, firm but still new, and dizzying and exciting and perfect. It was beautiful, and Lipton reached his peak locked in Speirs’ embrace and with his teeth on his neck, thrashing against him and gasping helplessly as he rode out the rush of pleasure.

Speirs hummed with delight when Lipton came over his hand. “Oh, so good, Carwood…” he sighed into his neck and kissed him. Lipton shivered and nuzzled against him. 

Then Speirs pulled his hand free, grasped Lipton by the hips and rolled on top of him, squeezing his thighs between his knees and started to chase his own pleasure.

Still dizzy and wrung out, Lipton rocked up against Speirs and urged him to keep moving. He felt warm and sated but bringing Speirs off against his willing body still sent sparks down his spine, and he moaned in his pleasure haze. 

“I love it when you hold me like that,” came out of his mouth in a rush, and Speirs gripped him tighter, yanking him up higher so that his back bowed. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Speirs managed to say as he panted, hips thrusting and trembling with how close he was. “Just… Just so gorgeous.” 

Lipton became acutely aware that he must have been quite a sight, lying there with his back bowed and his arms tucked close to brace him like he had just finished a series of push-ups. 

“Ron…” He didn’t even know what he meant, only that he wanted to call out to him. 

Speirs squeezed his mouth and eyes shut as he came, a deep, low hum rising from his throat. He trembled all over and his hips gave a few thrusts more, and Lipton gasped as he felt the splatter of warmth on his thighs. 

When Speirs let go of his hips and rolled over, Lipton swooped in, wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his chest. Aftershocks and a terrifying tenderness made them both shiver, and they held each other through it. 

Afterwards they untangled only slightly, falling side by side on the bed with their legs still hooked together and hands on each other’s sides or chest. They lay there, suddenly lazy with cooling sweat on their skin and their breaths slowly calming down.

The post-lovemaking afterglow made Lipton overlook the drying sweat and sticky cum on his skin and enjoy the moment. He felt almost drunk, and not only on pleasure and Speirs but on the rush of spontaneity, and he felt giddy about the mess they had made of his sheets that had led proper, chaste lives for far too long. 

And Speirs was so beautiful like this. There was a flush on his cheeks and his chest, and now that the flame had been tempered, he had time to properly admire him. He was lean and strong, and stretched on his side, eyes closed and glowing with pleasure, his fingers petting over Lipton’s ribs he looked like he spent every night in his bed. 

Green eyes opened and focused on Lipton’s face. “What are you smiling about?” Speirs murmured. 

Only at the question Lipton realized that he was indeed smiling. He felt silly and didn’t care one bit. “No reason. I just like being close to you,” he replied. He paused, chewed on his lower lip and listened to their breathing. “That felt really good,” he added. 

A smile bloomed on Speirs’ face. He ran a hand down from Lipton’s side and onto his chest and up again, cradled his jaw and leaned across the distance to kiss him. There was a touch of the earlier heat in the kiss but mostly it was just sweet, a tender caress of sore lips, soft and wet and aimless.

Speirs nudged Lipton with his forehead, pressing his nose against his cheek. “I’m glad that you liked it,” he muttered. “I did too.” 

They lay together, occasionally kissing and their hands softly touching, crawled only partially under the covers but warm so close together. 

Finally but with reluctance Lipton pulled himself away from Speirs and got up. “I’ll go and wash up quick, okay?” he said, leaned in for one more kiss and then made his way to the bathroom. 

He took a bath sponge and cleaned himself quickly in the sink. The man in the mirror was unabashedly happy, even when he spotted a few faint purple marks on the side of his neck and on his collar. Some juvenile part of him was even pleased about the marks, like they were a special brand of some sort, a souvenir of their passion even though Lipton knew he would definitely not show them off. 

There was laundry drying on a rack in the bathroom, and he got himself a pair of clean underwear, deemed himself neat enough and went back to the bedroom.

He stopped on his tracks.

Speirs was half dressed, currently putting his belt back on, and clearly about to make an exit.

Lipton felt his heart sinking and his feet going cold. “You’re leaving?” he asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Speirs’ gaze snapped to him, his brows raised. He stilled. “I… Yes?” 

He looked more confused than anything, exactly like Lipton felt at this sudden change of mood. 

“Why?” Lipton asked.

Speirs blinked, and the look of confusion on his face deepened. He rubbed his palm awkwardly on his trousers and scrambled for words. “Well… Isn’t that… I mean, we already…” he cleared his throat. “This is how it’s always gone?” 

Lipton studied the man carefully. He looked confused and uncomfortable, the question evident in his tone. There had been a script, but it had been interrupted, and now Speirs didn’t know what to do. Lipton felt relief flooding him: It wasn’t about him, or them, it was something else, and suddenly knee-buckling tenderness joined the feeling of relief when Lipton realized this was something entirely new to the other.

Lipton smiled. “Why don’t you spend the night?”

Speirs studied him with his head tilted in cautious consideration. “You sure?”

Lipton nodded. “That’s what I meant when I asked you home with me.” He hesitated before continuing, wondering if it was too much, but then decided to take the plunge. “That’s what people who are serious about each other do.”

Speirs stared at him and stayed quiet, biting the inside of his cheek. He shifted on his feet, not only uncomfortable but awkward.

Lipton returned the look with a soft smile. “Please stay,” he said. “You can use the bathroom and borrow clean clothes from me if you want.” And with that he crawled back into bed and left the decision up to Speirs. 

After a moment of hesitation Speirs took him up on the offer of bathroom and disappeared there for a few minutes. Lipton listened to the sound of running water, fluffed one of the pillows and pulled the covers over himself, drowsy and breathing in the scent of another man in his sheets. 

He was brought out of his half-dreaming state when a weight lowered on the mattress and Speirs crawled under the covers with him, settling close but still on his side of the bed. He had stripped down again, wearing only a pair of Lipton’s underwear.

“Hi,” he whispered. 

Lipton smiled. “Hi.”

Speirs laid his head on the pillow and regarded him with curious eyes. It got warm under the covers with the two of them, snug and so comfortable that Lipton wanted to curl up and sleep until noon. 

But Speirs didn’t look sleepy, not yet. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“For almost walking out on you.”

Lipton huffed, feeling that sweet clench inside his chest again, and spurred by it reached for Speirs under the covers. “It’s okay. You’re here now, and I want you here in the morning too.”

Speirs closed his eyes and huffed. He stared up towards the ceiling, and Lipton could see the conflict plain on his face. He waited.

“The truth is…” Speirs started but paused almost immediately to worry his lower lip with his teeth. “No one’s wanted me to stay before, so I haven’t.”

Lipton was holding his arm and gave it a squeeze. “I want you. All of you,” he said and meant it so much he frightened himself.

Speirs released a sigh, a lighter one this time, then turned to him with a look that was both melancholic and adoring. “You’re something else, aren’t you?” 

“Very sleepy is what I am,” Lipton replied, burrowing himself into the pillow and the covers. He reached out his arm towards Speirs. “C’mere,” he called though he was already pulling Speirs to him, and the other was obeying the reaching gesture alone. It was easy to pull Speirs to his chest, wrap him in his arms, and fall asleep. 

Lipton didn’t dream that night, only sank into pleasant darkness full of warmth and the thrillingly new scent of another person in his bed. He slept deeply and peacefully until morning, and gently came out of the dream alone in the still warm bed. 

The apartment wasn’t dead quiet like he was used to, and in his state of near awareness the sound and smell of breakfast being cooked registered to him. Speirs might have already been up but he definitely wasn’t gone, and a warm feeling blossomed in Lipton’s chest. He got up, pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and walked into the other room. 

Speirs had taken over his kitchen, half dressed and his hair finger-combed back. Next to the stove there was a steadily growing pile of pancakes on a plate, coffee was brewing, and the table was already set.

Lipton approached and took the image in: Speirs in his kitchen cooking a delicious-looking breakfast like he had done it a hundred times before, sunlight turning the whole room golden and the coffee smelling better than ever before. It made him feel frightfully fond, stupidly happy and warm inside, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

Speirs heard him approaching and turned to him. “Good morning,” he greeted with a smile in his eyes. 

“Morning,” Lipton returned, settling by the kitchen counter.

Speirs smiled at him, leaning against the counter. “I hope you don’t mind that I took over your kitchen. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“It’s fine,” Lipton said, sounding dreamy even to his own ears. He hadn’t thought Speirs as the type to cook anything, and this was a pleasant and endearing surprise. 

Speirs flipped a pancake from the frying-pan into the pile and scooped a new cup of batter from the bowl into the pan. “You had jam and eggs in your fridge, so I thought this would be fitting,” he said as if an explanation was needed.

“It’s perfect. I love pancakes,” Lipton said. It was a lie; he didn’t have any strong feelings towards pancakes, he just liked but rarely bothered to make them, but in this moment he couldn’t imagine anything better. 

Speirs smiled, reserved in a way he often was. In a way it was shy, Lipton just hadn’t thought of it like that before because the word seemed so out of place otherwise, but it fit. 

It was all so perfect. Maybe it was the rush of several first times, maybe it was infatuation, Lipton didn’t care. All he cared about was the trembling, sweet feeling deep inside his chest, the silly happiness he felt at Speirs in his kitchen like he lived here, and how much he suddenly wanted that to be the case.

Lipton picked up the two cups from the small dining table and went to the coffee maker, poured them both a cup and made Speirs’ coffee like he by now knew he took it. “Hey, Ron?” he asked.

Speirs looked up. He accepted the cup with a grateful nod and listened.

Lipton was too happy to even be nervous. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?” 

Speirs looked at him for a long moment, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his gaze steady and bright. “Yes.” 

Lipton leaned in to kiss him.


	13. A lucky man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am finally free of my academic obligations and naturally this is the first thing I wanted to do. I hope you're excited for some friendship.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! They make my day.

It was a good weekend for Lipton. The weather took a turn for colder, and the sky was clear and a crystal veil of frost covered the city overnight. 

It was bright in Lipton’s apartment too. Saturday morning had been slow with an overly long breakfast and then stealing more time together by watching sit-com reruns on tv while pressed together on the couch, and it had been early noon when Speirs had finally left, but not before lingering in the doorway and kissing him goodbye. 

Come Sunday, Lipton was still riding the high. He had his morning coffee while staring out of the window with a smile on his face. It was wonderous how his apartment didn’t feel lonely at all even though Speirs wasn’t there anymore. It was like something had shifted in the atmosphere, and it wasn’t just the lingering traces of the other in his home. The whole apartment seemed brighter and warmer, and Lipton was cozy there. He felt lighter too, his thoughts clear and in order, and his limbs weren’t sluggish and heavy like they had been for weeks now. 

Even though he was alone, Lipton cooked himself a big breakfast and wolfed it down, hungrier than he had been in a while. All signs pointed towards the morning turning into a good day, and when Lipton left for the hospital he didn’t mind the cold, just wrapped his scarf tighter and stuffed it down the front his jacket. 

Sunday was a busy day at the hospital, but for once for a positive reason as this was the one day of the week when most people could make a visit. When Lipton arrived, Gordon was sitting on the edge of his bed and fully dressed. 

“Hello there,” Lipton greeted from the doorway with a smile.

Gordon threw him a look with raised brows. “Hello yourself,” he replied. He had a coat on and he was using a little tool that looked like a crocheting hook with a metal loop at the end to pull the buttons through the buttonholes. “You’re looking cheerful.”

Lipton shrugged. He stepped into the room but didn’t sit down as it looked like he had caught Gordon in the middle of something. Instead he looked around, taking in the fresh flowers and the new paperback novels stacked on the small table by the bed. “Well, I’m having a good day,” he said. The scarf around his neck felt suddenly incriminating even though it was a reasonable fit to the weather. 

“Yeah? Any progress at work?” Gordon asked.

Lipton came to stand by the bed and put his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes and no,” he said with a noncommittal jerk of his shoulders. “We’ve had new leads, but for every step forward it’s always another back. Are you going somewhere?”

“Oh yeah, we’re going out,” Gordon announced, buttoning his coat and tossing the dressing aid aside. “As soon as Gene gets me a wheelchair, that is. You’d think that a hospital would have wheelchairs readily available, but oh no. Now how’s your tap-dance of an investigation?”

Lipton huffed with amusement and shrugged again. The news wasn’t great but he seemed to have left his ability to be stressed at work last Friday. “My boring marathon of surveillance footage bore fruit and we found the car of our killer, who still has it by the way. So he’s still around and we have the license plate of his vehicle, and we even spotted him on the surveillance of the rental place. Only all we know now is that he’s a fairly tall white guy who drives a four-door silver Mercedes.”

Even though Lipton finished with the bad news, Gordon still looked up to him with an impressed expression and let out a slow whistle. “What sort of ID did he use? How about the payments?”

Lipton quirked his mouth in a put-upon little grimace. “Fake ID, of course. The person whose name he used doesn't exist. His payments are made with either cash or through an online transaction service. We had the Cyber Unit take a look, but he uses proxy servers. Luz said he most likely has a VPN provider that doesn’t keep records, so no luck there.” 

Gordon listened and nodded. He didn’t look surprised or worried, just acknowledged the situation. “That’s a pity, but I can’t say I’m too surprised. The guy’s smart. He must have a reason for sticking around, so of course he’s covering his tracks. But I think you’re still making progress. Keep at it. Every criminal makes a mistake eventually, it’s simple human nature.” 

Lipton smiled. “It’s funny that you note his humanity. You should see the way some of the guys glare at the board of the ‘cop-killer hitman’.”

Gordon gave an uncomfortable grimace. “You know me, Lip. I try not to get emotionally involved. Besides, I think those two things sort of cancel each other out. Because he’s a hitman he didn’t kill those cops because he hates us or whatever, he was simply paid to do so. But following that line of thought, maybe watch your back with this investigation.”

It was Lipton’s turn to grimace. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and tried to keep himself from shifting on his feet despite the cold shiver that crawled down his spine. “I can’t say that I didn’t think of that after Buck and I gave our cards to the husband of a well-known criminal. Not that Nixon needs our cards to know that we’re after him.”

Gordon smirked. “It’s a dangerous job, always has been. We’re after several very powerful people’s wallets after all, and no one goes willingly to prison,” he pointed out and spread his arms to needlessly remind his friend that he himself was bed-ridden for that very reason. 

Lipton felt his scars itching for the first time in a while, but was spared from making a comment when there was a knock on the door and nurse Roe came in with a wheelchair. 

“Hey, sorry this took a while,” Roe said as he pushed the chair in the room, then noticed Lipton and gave him a nod. “Hello there, detective. Didn’t see you there. But anyway, here’s the chair. I got you a proper one, not a medical one. Had to go all the way to the west wing and storages for one of these.” 

The chair Roe was pushing was light and frankly not very steady-looking. It was black with thick cushions, a low backrest and a narrow footrest, and no push handles on the back. It didn’t look much like a chair at all, very different from the one Lipton’s mother used, and Roe parked it by Gordon’s bed and turned the break on. 

“There ya go,” Roe said, straightened up and hooked his left hand’s thumb under the waistband of his blue scrubs. “There’s the break, and be careful, this one can tip over if you’re not careful. But it’s fast and nimble, so you can practice for real. Is your friend coming out with you?”

Roe turned to Lipton, who now for the first time noticed that the nurse wasn’t just naturally pale but tired. He wondered if he was pulling a double shift. 

“Yeah, I’ll be going with him,” Lipton replied.

“Thanks, Gene. I’ll be alright here on,” Gordon said with a smile. 

“Okay. Don’t be too long though, and dress warm,” Roe added, then walked out and left them to it.

Once again Lipton felt the urge to offer his help, but didn’t dare. Gordon had been making progress, and if he had managed to dress himself and the nurse trusted him, he’d get himself into the chair just fine. Gordon pushed himself up from the bed with both of his hands gripping the sidebar of it and stiffly shuffled across the slightly over one foot of distance between the bed and the chair, where he settled down just as carefully. Once seated, he released a slow puff of breath and hoisted his feet up on the footrest one at a time but without needing the help of his hands. 

Gordon settled down, shifted to sit in a more comfortable position and then laid his hands on the push rings, then turned to look at Lipton with a bright smile. “All settled. Let’s go!” 

Behind the hospital there was a small park. It wasn’t much, just some walkways, grass, rows of oak trees that now stood dark and bare, a few flowerbeds, rose bushes and a few statues of various benefactors and saints as well as a few memorials. There were a few patients about stretching their legs, and a small group of staff members having a smoke break by a side entrance for personnel. The paths were wide and sandy, and Gordon had no trouble taking his wheelchair there and moving about. 

Lipton let him set the pace and walked slowly alongside his friend, and they strolled down the path slowly. Lipton took long, languid steps, and Gordon wheeled his chair forward with a strong push from his hands every now and then, for the most part letting the chair move with its own momentum. 

“So, you want to tell me what’s made you so cheerful? 'Cause it isn’t your investigation,” Gordon asked out of the blue. 

Lipton felt suddenly shy, but a smile forced its way on his face again and he adjusted the scarf. It wasn’t just coyness either, the most prominent feeling he felt being the excitement about the luck he had been struck by, but he felt giddy about both keeping the secret as well as spilling it and couldn’t decide what to do with that. 

His silence was giving Gordon ideas, and the kind smile was turning more mischievous as he peered up at Lipton with narrowed eyes. “I can tell something’s happened. Something has definitely happened to make you like this. You’re practically skipping, Lip!”

“Am I?” Lipton said and failed to keep a grin at bay.

“You are! And now you’re shining like a Californian sun too. Was your date seriously that good? You didn’t text me for help this time either. Does this mean you’re now totally confident with your game?”

Lipton just smiled and refused to reply, just quirked his brows a bit and tried to look innocent. 

Gordon studied him sharply, looking him up and down. “Uh-oh, you’re grinning. Grinning and skipping! What did he do, seriously? Did he take you to see The Lion King or what?”

Lipton laughed. Their date had actually been on the opposite end of the spectrum of flashy effort, but so much better. He tried to keep his smile in check and glanced at Gordon with the most meaningful look he could manage without being outright suggestive.

For a moment Gordon just blankly stared back at him, and then it was like a light bulb had gone off. 

“…Oh! Oh _my_, Lip!”

A breathless snicker escaped him and a warm flush rose to his cheeks. “Yep.” 

“Well that’s an exclusive vacancy of a whole other kind.”

Lipton laughed, pulled his scarf up and refused to comment. They continued their walk by naked rose bushes and underneath a cover of black branches of bare trees. A cold wind rose up and blew past them, rattling the stiff branches above them like bones. 

“I have a boyfriend,” Lipton said suddenly. 

Frozen sand rattled under the wheels of his chair but Gordon made a warm, approving noise. “Congratulations. Ron Speirs, was it? You have to introduce us sometime soon, I want to measure him up and make sure he's a good guy.”

“By all means,” Lipton agreed easily. He couldn’t wait to introduce Speirs to his friends. 

“Have you told the guys at work?”

With an awkward tilt of his head, Lipton had to admit: “No. But I will, in time. Well, I’ll tell Buck, Joe, Bill and George at least. But I’m not in a hurry.”

“You know it’s alright, right?” Gordon said.

“Sure,” Lipton replied, too lightly.

Gordon picked up on the flippancy of his answer and pressed on: “I’m serious. Guys shoot the shit every now and then, but they don’t mean anything by it. Everyone’s fine with you, I promise.”

He appreciated the reassurances, but Lipton didn’t know how to begin to explain that it wasn’t what he needed since he wasn’t entirely sure himself what was the matter. The kind words that missed their mark made him feel odd frustration that he didn’t know how to unpack without being insensitive to his friend’s concern. “I know that it’s fine, but it’s also just my business. If someone needs to know then I’ll tell them, but I don’t want to walk around our station and be the gay detective, you know? It’s my private business, and I like it that way.”

It seemed that Gordon didn’t know how to handle the topic either, so he simply let it rest. “If you say so, buddy. It’s your choice, I’m not telling you what to do with your life. Just that you don’t need to be nervous, that’s all.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m happy,” Lipton argued, his thoughts drifting to Speirs again and the lightness returning to his limbs with them. 

Gordon smiled. “That’s good to hear. It suits you.”

They strolled along the level path easily. The ground was frozen, but the path was covered in gravel, providing a good foothold. The grass was frozen too into pale green spikes, and the naked trees had gotten a layer of glittering frost. Everything looked beautiful to Lipton.

“I think I’m going to call my mom,” he said as soon as the idea occurred to him.

“To give the news?” Gordon asked.

Lipton nodded. “Yeah. She stopped asking me about a partner six years ago. I think her patience deserves a reward.”

Gordon chuckled and agreed. “That’s good of you. She will be happy to hear that her oldest son has finally been asked for his hand in marriage! She won’t have to worry that you will start adopting cats and spinning wool now that a real gentleman has come to your life.” He paused for a second, then continued with the familiar teasing spark in his tone: “Maybe leave out the bit where said gentleman stayed in your bedchamber overnight though. That’s not very proper of you.”

Lipton smacked him on the shoulder with a scoff but laughed too. “I am an adventurous soul on occasion, Mr. Gordon.” 

Lipton stayed to have lunch with Gordon, and the nurses and the senior doctor of the ward overlooked the stretching visiting hour. Gordon was doing much better, and it seemed that the hospital staff was getting eager to discharge him even though they wouldn’t clear him to return to his previous job at the police station. 

Gordon mentioned off-handedly that he considered asking Commander Strayer if there was any other post at the station open for him, one that he could work at from a wheelchair, but didn’t really seem optimistic about it. There was plenty of desk duty at the White-Collar Department, but Gordon also worried about his salary level. Lipton knew him to be a proud man even though he didn’t show it often, and he knew without it being said that Gordon wouldn’t stay if it meant to be demoted. 

The rest of the Sunday was slow. Lipton could hardly believe how much he had free time. He was so used to working that simply walking through his neighborhood and lingering at parks and stopping at a cafe to have a warm cup of cappuccino felt foreign. There was a small flame deep inside his chest, a little flicker of warmth that he didn’t dare to inspect too closely for the fear of snuffing it out.

It was a small yet strong feeling, something entirely new that he hadn’t realized he had been missing all this time. It was a precious little thing, and feeling the lick of that tender flame made him want to shelter it and keep it burning no matter what.

He missed Speirs already even though they had been apart no more than a day. Lipton hadn’t ever been much of a dater, and this was a whole new perspective on why: Normally he didn’t like the clumsy format and the trial-and-error method to relationships, but now that he actually liked someone he didn’t like how he wasn’t supposed to spend more than a few hours at a time with him. 

He wanted to be with Speirs all the time. He didn’t even want to do anything special, he just wanted to be with him and talk and fast forward to the point where they knew everything about each other. He wanted to be with Speirs and feed that flame he had lit inside of him and find out how brightly it could burn. He wanted to talk with him and just linger near him with just the two of them. He wanted to know him and touch him and sleep next to him and make love to him. 

Lipton hadn’t thought of himself as a person who minded not having sex that much, but now that he had had a little taste after being without for a long time all he could think about was the many things they hadn’t tried. He sipped his coffee with a piece of chocolate in his mouth and thought of having Speirs in his bed again and turning the tables on him. He wanted to explore him in return, to press him on his back in the sheets and take his time getting to know his body. The rich coffee together with the chocolate was a dark delight, and Lipton fantasied about a man of similar nature. 

It was strange to think that the man was his. Speirs was officially his boyfriend, not some casual date who may or may not be seeing other people on the side and considers him just meaningless fun. 

They were in a relationship, one that they both agreed was a serious one, and that was what made Lipton actually follow through with his carelessly voiced thought that he was going to call his mother about it. 

He stretched his legs out on his couch and relaxed when he selected his mother’s phone number from his contacts. He laid back, listened to the even noise of the line connecting and tried not to count the seconds as the phone rang. Just under a minute Margot picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom,” Lipton greeted.

Margot’s tone brightened immediately. “Carwood, dear! What a pleasant surprise. It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Yes, it has. Sorry about that, it’s been a really busy month or so at work, but it’s fine. I’m fine,” Lipton explained even though he knew that his mother didn’t blame him. They were in contact regularly enough, but still when weeks went by without a word it made him feel guilty. “We have this case that I can’t really discuss, but it’s produced a lot of work.”

Margot huffed at his explanations and brushed them aside easily. Lipton could hear her bracelets rattling as she waved her hand. “It’s alright, I understand. Police work is like that sometimes. I hope you’re taking care of yourself properly.”

“I am, don’t worry. I’m doing fine, and so is Walter. I visited him today, and he might be getting out of the hospital soon,” Lipton chatted away, his friend still clear in his mind.

Margot sighed in relief, and her tone turned more serious. “That’s wonderful. Oh, I’ve worried about him too, you know? You work in such a calm and neat field, one never thinks something like that could happen to you. Awful, just awful. But if he’s doing better then I can consider my prayers answered.” 

“That’s nice, Mom. We are all happy for him,” Lipton said. 

“Naturally.”

The pleasantries and the everyday subjects had run their course, and a moment of silence fell between them. Lipton could hear a pot or a kettle in the background with something boiling in it, and wondered if he had caught his mother in the middle of making herself tea.

He drew a deep breath and dug his toes into the couch cushion. “Mom… Listen… I called because I wanted to tell you something.”

Margot hummed with intrigue. “Something good I hope, Carwood! We could all use some good news in our lives every now and then, especially after such trying time.”

“Oh don’t worry, it’s good,” he said, but couldn’t help but pause for a second. He shifted and felt his shoulders pressing into the backrest of his narrow couch. “I’ve met someone.”

“Oh?”

With a confirming noise Lipton went on: “Yeah, it’s this new guy from work. His name is Ron. We’ve been out a few times, and we just got together officially. We’re in a relationship.”

Margot sighed, and even that small exhale was clearly full of joy. “Oh, darling. That’s wonderful news! What does he do exactly?”

“He’s the front desk manager at our station. I met him by a chance at our lunch cafeteria. He’s a vet, and really nice.”

“That’s sweet. And what do his parents do?”

Lipton felt suddenly awkward. He hadn’t asked about Speirs’ parents anything more than their names, and not being able to answer his mother made him feel embarrassed. “Uh. I don’t know exactly. He’s from Boston and they still live there,” he explained as well as he could.

“Well. If you like him, he must be a good man,” Margot allowed and didn’t press on the previous matter. She sounded honest too, and Lipton could let at least a part of his worries go.

“I really do. Like him, I mean,” he confessed and bit his thumb nail. Even though he was alone and speaking only to his mother, it was hard to say the words aloud. He felt his cheeks burning and resisted the urge to curl up. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone. It’s been good. I really hope to take this seriously, and I think he does too.”

Margot hummed softly, and her voice was just as gentle. Her kind exterior withstood scrutiny and revealed itself to be genuine. “That’s wonderful to hear. You always wore your heart on your sleeve, and all these years with the law enforcement hasn’t changed that, not deep down.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Lipton muttered with a deep sigh. 

“Do you want me to tell John or…?”

Lipton still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his mother’s new husband, even though he wasn’t exactly new after ten years with her. He hesitated. “Um… It’s okay, Mom. You don’t need to tell him yet, I’ll do it myself at a better time.”

“Whatever you want, dear,” Margot allowed. “But just so you know, it’s going to be alright. He’s been made aware, and I’ll always be on your side. Understand?”

Lipton let out another sigh he hadn’t known he had held, one releasing some of his ever-present discomfort that he had grown far too accustomed to carrying. “Yeah, Mom. I do. Thanks.”

“Of course. Now tell me, are coming home for Christmas?” 

After that the conversation took a more casual tone, and Lipton enjoyed it. His mother had a way of taking serious things seriously but afterwards turning to lighter subjects to do away with the heaviness left by the topic. He could only hope to learn the skill from her, but for now he settled on enjoying it from his mother. 

He was happy that he had called and proud of himself for saying what he had intended to. It hadn’t always been easy, and sometimes it still wasn’t, but it was alright. 

Lipton could live with alright.


	14. All-nighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you had nice holidays. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments. It's so nice to see and hear from you and know that you are reading my story. So here's an update! Applying some heat to the stand-off.

Since by now they knew where Nixon ate both at work and after it, it was easy to intercept his route. 

To his credit, Nixon didn’t look particularly surprised when he stepped out of the restaurant to see Toye and Guarnere standing in his way and next to a police car, clearly waiting for him.

“Well,” Nixon said, flipping the tails of his overcoat as he stood before the two detectives, tapping the pavement with the tip of one fine leather shoe. “For what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nixon,” Toye said as professionally as he could manage. “If you’d come with us, please?”

Guarnere took a step aside and gestured to the backseat of the police car, indicating that Nixon should get in.

Nixon just raised one dark eyebrow at them, a smile frozen on his face. “I don’t think I want to,” he said lightly. 

Toye clicked his tongue and took one slow step towards the man. “We’re not requesting, we’re telling you. You’re coming with us to the station so that we can ask you a couple of questions. So please get in the car so that we won’t have to cuff you and make you.”

No amount of smirking was getting Nixon out of this one. He wouldn’t have stood a chance in a physical struggle with Toye, who was not taller but certainly broader and obviously in peak physical condition, whereas Nixon was on the softer side, evidently a man who dealt with words not fists, but still he established resistance by standing still for a few more seconds. He kept eye-contact with Toye and the smirk stayed on his face, testing the detective’s patience in a subtly irritating way. 

“Fine then,” Nixon said, just a second before his stalling would have become read as noncompliance. He lifted his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender and with the sly smile still on his face walked to the car.

Guarnere opened the door, Nixon stepped inside, and the detective closed the door after him.

Toye was driving and Guarnere sat next to him, half turned towards him so that he could keep an eye on the backseat. Nixon lounged on his seat like in the back of a limousine driven by his two personal chauffeurs, the smile still in place.

“Say, could I perhaps make a call home? Husband will worry if I miss our date night,” Nixon said.

“You’ll get your phone call at the station when we say so,” Toye grunted and maneuvered the car out of the parallel park. His tone was final enough that there were no other comments from the back, just silence and a constant sharp stare in the rear-view mirror. 

At the station Toye and Guarnere walked Nixon inside and up to their floor, all the way down the long corridor to the interrogation rooms. They both took great care not to touch the man, just kept him in the space between their shoulders and gestured him down the correct hallway after another, until they got him into the interrogation room five and locked the door behind him.

Behind the one-way glass stood Lipton and Buck, alert and with their notes ready, ready for action. 

They watched Nixon linger by the door in the room that was empty save for a table bolted to the floor and three light plastic chairs. When he was left alone, that confident smirk that could have been his signature slowly dimmed and slipped off, and the man became entirely serious, taking in his surroundings. 

He lingered by the door for a moment longer, then put his hands into his pockets and took a few aimless, slow steps around the room. He let his gaze circulate the room slowly, and soon he spotted the covert security camera in the ceiling, then turned to look at the glass that to him was a mirror. Once again he smirked and waved even though he couldn’t see anyone behind the glass. He ignored the chairs and stayed on his feet.

“He hasn’t asked why he’s here,” Buck noted to Lipton.

“Well, it isn’t his first time,” Lipton replied. _And he knows he’s guilty_, Lipton thought but didn’t say aloud. 

Fifteen minutes later Nixon was still standing, and the detectives decided they wouldn’t wait until he sat down on his own accord. Guarnere and Toye took the first round and went in, Toye carrying a large plastic box.

Nixon faced them with his hands in his trouser pockets, and Toye offered the box towards him.

“Mr. Nixon, you are hereby detained by the CPD. Please put any loose personal belongings on your person here so that we can store them away. They will be inventoried and returned to you when you leave.”

Nixon clicked his tongue like this was all useless bother that was beneath him, but then started to dig through his pockets. “Sure, whatever,” he said and put in the box his phone, home keys, a packet of tissues, a small box of breath mints and a black comb. “Now how about that phone call?” 

“You’ll get it when we tell you so,” Guarnere said. “Meanwhile, take a seat. You’re gonna be here a while.”

Nixon gave him a strained fake smile but did as he was told. The chair was flimsy plastic and purposefully uncomfortable, and he pushed it far enough from the table to slump down and throw one leg across the other. “So, what’s this about?”

Toye and Guarnere ignored the question, turned and walked out of the room. 

Nixon scoffed as the door closed and stayed seated.

Toye and Guarnere went straight to the observation room where Buck and Lipton were waiting. Lipton was sitting on the desk and Buck in the chair with his feet on the table when they came in, and together they watched Nixon quickly getting bored in the interrogation room. 

“So, how we’re gonna play this?” Guarnere asked, already waiting for his turn in the room. To him this course of action was an obvious answer to their question of how to apply heat to their main suspect, but the others wanted to plan more, and since this was his and Heffron's idea he was willing to go along just to see this play out faster.

“We’ll just let him stew for a minute,” Buck said with an uncaring shrug. “He’s an old hand at this, and if that guy has one thing, it’s nerves, so we’re probably not going to get anything out of him. So remember that our first priority is to shake things up, to just pass the time and make him take us seriously. Let’s give him something to think about.” 

“Boring him a bit while we’re at it isn’t a bad start,” Lipton commented as he watched Nixon drum his fingers on the table like an impatient customer at a restaurant. 

Toye agreed. “And who knows, maybe after a while he won’t be so eager to keep his hitman’s name or location a secret anymore.”

There was a long night ahead of them. Legally they couldn’t hold Nixon without charges longer than forty-eight hours, but they had agreed that they only needed twenty-four. Less than twenty-four hours behind a lock and a key in small room without a clear reason why had broken tougher guys after all.

They let an hour go by without anyone going back in and just kept watch behind the glass. Nixon didn’t look fidgety or nervous, he just sat in the chair without loosening so much as a button on his dress shirt, just alternating which hand he was resting his chin on when he wasn’t leaning back and stretching. 

Toye and Guarnere took the first round at him after one hour and twenty minutes, the two of them both outnumbering and outweighing the man. Lipton and Buck followed the situation from their seats behind the glass, ready to give their outside perspective afterwards and already planning their tactic in advance. 

Toye and Guarnere entered the room calmly, both carrying thick casefiles that were both full of mostly blank stationery. They took their time before approaching the table by lingering around by the door pretending to look through their papers and completely ignoring Nixon, who in turn stared at them with a condescending smile like he was waiting on incompetent wait staff.

Toye and Guarnere both took a seat directly opposite of Nixon, both relaxed but serious. They let the silence stretch on for a minute more, while Nixon gave an exaggerated, bored sigh. 

“So, Mr. Nixon. Continuing the family tradition by getting yourself in here, I see,” Toye started in an uncaring drawl. 

Nixon shrugged. “That’s the finance world for you. Tricky stuff.”

“Finances, huh?” Toye said.

“Finances, he says,” Guarnere confirmed with a nod and gave Nixon a look that seemed to evaluate the man and find him lacking.

“Yeah, that’s when a person with money gives that money to other people or enterprises who don’t have money, and in exchange gets shares from the profit they make,” Nixon explained like to children. 

Toye stared back with an unimpressed look. “You’re funny,” he said blankly. “Isn’t he funny?” he asked Guarnere, turning to him.

“Yeah, he’s funny. A real funny guy,” Guarnere agreed, in an equally neutral tone.

Nixon just nodded along their assessment with a mocking smile on his face, playing dumb. If he knew how easy it would have been to just turn off the security camera for a while, he didn't seem too nervous about that.

Toye opened the file that he held so Nixon couldn’t see its contents. “But not that smart. He doesn’t even know why he’s here.”

“Yep,” Guarnere agreed.

“Well please enlighten me then, gentlemen,” Nixon scoffed.

Toye picked up one of the few things in the file that wasn’t there just for show and put it on the table, pushing it towards Nixon. 

The expression on Nixon’s face stiffened and his smile lost its spark when he looked down at the crime scene photo of Kreminski lying in a pool of blood in his kitchen. It was one of the wide shots where you could clearly see the body where it had fallen, his glazed over dead eyes and the spray of blood that had painted the kitchen cabinets all over. 

“You are here because you are a murderer,” Toye helpfully supplied. 

When Toye spoke, Nixon seemed to snap out of his initial shock and regained his composure almost to its previous cool arrogance, just without the smirk. “You know just as well as I do that I had nothing to do with that.”

Guarnere ignored him and went on: “The late Mr. Kreminski, who used to work for you and who was just before his death under investigation by our White-Collar Department, was willing to testify. Can’t imagine you were too happy about that.”

Nixon clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know anything about that.” 

“Oh, but you do,” Guarnere said. He was sitting back in his chair, indifferent but still sharp with his words, never letting his eyes wander off Nixon. “Mr. Kreminski’s car went missing after he was murdered. The same car that a few parking tickets place within vicinity of the office you work at just days prior.”

Nixon didn’t reply, just returned the sharp look with carefully guarded neutrality. 

Guarnere didn’t need prompting, he just continued: “I bet he came to see you and tried to talk things out. But you couldn’t have it, could you? He had already been caught, and he had already talked. Can’t let that kind of disloyalty fly, can you? Especially from some nobody so low in the hierarchy. And you know just as well as we do that all it takes is one insider person who points us into the right direction, and your little empire comes tumbling down.” 

A moment of ringing silence reigned the room for a while. The atmosphere was beyond tense, and the three men locked in a staring contest in it refused to give even an inch to anyone. 

“That is ridiculous,” Nixon finally said, topping the comment with a little scoff. His eyes had turned sharp and cool, his thick brows just slightly drawn together like only his upper-class upbringing was holding him back from fully expressing his contempt even though it was obvious in his tone. “I have an alibi. I wasn’t anywhere near of any of my workers’ homes when they were killed, and multiple people can testify for that. All you are doing here is putting on a show in hopes of getting something out of me, only there’s nothing to get.” 

“Oh there’s plenty to get,” Guarnere said back, “we know it, you know it, and I think plenty of your friends in low places know it too. Whatever you like to call it or however you justify it to yourself, your business is dirty. Or – “ he tapped the photograph still on the table, “bloody.” 

Nixon didn’t grace that with an answer, but his upper lip twitched back in anger, or maybe disgust. He had a remarkable poker face, probably coming in handy in business dealings, but some things shined through even on his face. 

To the detectives it was a good sign. He had only been with them for a little over an hour, and they planned to keep him for twenty-three more. If this was him after an hour, the rest just might produce them actual results even if they didn’t break the guy. 

“I can’t imagine your father likes this new face of the family business. You’re not doing very well, Mr. Nixon,” Toye said. 

Nixon rolled his eyes again, his fingers drumming the tabletop again. “If you want his opinion, go and pick him up and detain him. I have nothing to say about that.”

Toye quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Not that we’re that surprised, to be honest. You’re not a very close family, are you? You were sent to a boarding school as a kid, weren’t you? Can’t imagine it was very nice to be made to continue the family business and not being allowed to choose for yourself after being thrown away like that. But now your father’s getting older, he’s not that involved anymore, you’re doing more and more of the work, and you’ve realized it means you have more power too. Must be nice to one-up your old man after all this time, huh? Maybe show off to him some? Cross lines he never did, maybe?”

Nixon stared back at Toye with a frozen expression that didn’t let anything through, but his jaw clenched like he was grating his teeth together. He lounged back in his chair and looked remarkably like a rowdy boy brought to the principal’s office after breaking some mundane rule. “You can blabber on about your theories all that you want. None of it proves anything against me.”

Toye stared him down coldly, the thick casefile closed on the table but his hand still resting meaningfully on it. “You don’t have to be there to pull the trigger to be a murderer, Mr. Nixon,” he said. “And you can be sure that we will get you for this, no matter how far we’ll have to go.”

“Ooh, tough guy,” Nixon quipped through his teeth. “I’ve always wondered what the guys who get into mediocre colleges just by throwing balls really fast do afterwards. I guess this answers that.” 

Toye didn’t flinch. “Would you like your phone call now, Mr. Nixon? You’re going to stay with us for a while.” 

“Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got nothing to say to anyone, like you’ve got nothing to charge me with. I’ll walk out of this place soon enough just as it is,” Nixon said with a hint of self-satisfied gloat and then pointedly looked away from both detectives, making it evident that he wasn’t going to say anything more. 

Toye and Guarnere exchanged a look, stood up and left the room without another word.

They met with Lipton and Buck who had been watching the whole exchange from the other room. 

“Well? What’s the word?” Guarnere asked as soon as he stepped into the room.

“He sure has issues, that’s for sure,” Buck said. “He got angry as soon as you brought up the elder Nixon. But as for our case, I don’t see much relevant information coming out of this guy.”

“Well, the point is that we keep him here and that’s it,” Lipton said, then considered the situation and their options once again. “Let me take a crack at him next. He’s already met you three, but not me. I might throw him off.”

“Good luck with that,” Toye said and dropped to sit on one of the chairs behind the desk and stretched until his back popped. He took a glance at his wristwatch and sighed. “It’s going to be a long night, fellas. It's not even nine yet. We’re gonna fill our overtime quotas just by the time we spend sitting here.”

“That’s okay. We’ll go out to get better coffee and something to eat in a moment,” Guarnere said, taking a seat next to Toye. He keenly watched Nixon alone in the room, sitting at the table with his hands in front of him and staring off into the distance. 

No one in the room believed they’d have much luck as Nixon was too aloof and too sure of himself, and for a good reason. He knew what he was doing and he knew the law, mainly that it was on his side in these circumstances. He also knew that it would be incredibly hard to prove anything against him, and he was using that to his advantage. 

But his ego seemed to come in the way. They all had noticed that he couldn’t resist a good dig at someone he disliked, and it looked like he wouldn’t call in a lawyer either just because the chance had been directly offered to him. He seemed like a man who wanted to fight to get things and not accept hand-downs, even if the hand-down was his legal right they were bound to offer him. If he had principles, he was sticking to them to the point of self-sabotage. 

“I think I’m going to go for the emotional route,” Lipton announced to his colleagues. “Needling him about his father got a reaction, and he clearly didn’t want to look at that crime scene photo, but I think we could work one other angle too.”

“What you got in mind?” Buck asked. 

“Just his being here looks bad to his client, especially when we'll let him go early,” Lipton explained, starting with their basic plan. “He must know that he has much to lose. He’s too smart not to realize the trouble he’s in. And whatever the details, he cares about his husband, who’s currently alone and probably worried about him. We might get something interesting if he pull at those strings in – “ Lipton checked the time, “ - a few hours.” 

They had a sort of a half break then, with one of them keeping an eye on Nixon and the rest of them making themselves otherwise useful like with organizing their food order before that one good Chinese restaurant that delivered closed their kitchen, or going on a coffee run with everyone’s special order. They had a long night ahead of them, and that kind of a stunt warranted the good stuff.

By eleven fifteen the night shift had officially come to effect and the personnel on the station had changed, save for the few detectives working overtime. Lipton had eaten a steady meal of fried noodles and spicy chicken, taken a few sips of coffee and gone through his strategy in his head before he stepped into the interrogation room with Nixon.

By that time Nixon was openly bored. He had taken off both his overcoat and suit jacket and put them on the table near him, taken off his tie and stuffed it into his pocket, and rolled up his sleeves. He was slumping on the table with his eyes closed and snoozing when the door opening woke him and he sprang upright.

Lipton walked to the table calmly and took his seat with similar unhurried ease. He flashed Nixon his best kind yet awkward smile as he arranged his papers and pulled his chair closer to the table. 

Nixon sniffed and rubbed his eyes, then narrowed them at Lipton, squinting suspiciously. “You I haven’t met before,” he said.

“No, we haven’t indeed,” Lipton replied with a smile. “I’m detective Carwood Lipton. I’m also working on this case, but I’m from the White-Collar Department. The ones you met were homicide detectives.”

“Yeah, yeah, I gathered,” Nixon said indifferently while sizing Lipton up with his gaze. “So you’re here to ask me about my spending and business plans, is that it?”

Lipton huffed a small laugh and opened the file in front of him, turning a few pages while glancing them over like the information there was mildly intriguing at most. “No, I’m not. We both know very well that it would be useless. No, I’m here to discuss your options.”

Nixon stared at him, expressionless. He was obviously thinking and trying to plan ahead but that required figuring out what Lipton was doing. “The way I see it, my option is to call my lawyer and walk out of here.”

Lipton nodded indulgently. “You could do that, yes. I’m sure your legal representative could have a few words with us and we’d let you walk out of here right then. Actually, here you go, do that if you want.” Lipton put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a phone, one of those regular years old cellphones they kept at the station for this very purpose, placed it on the table and pushed it across on Nixon’s side. 

For a few seconds Nixon stared at the phone but didn’t reach out to it. He looked at it like it might explode, and then he turned his narrowed eyes back at Lipton. “But you don’t want me to do that,” he said.

Lipton put his hands on the table, laced his fingers together and shrugged. “I don’t care what you do. As far as I’m concerned, you can do whatever you want. But you should perhaps think about your options before you decide.”

Nixon looked back at him coldly. “Which are?” 

Lipton smiled at him with sympathy. “You value your family, don’t you, Mr. Nixon? Your husband was quick to tell us how he loves you and how your marriage is a happy one.”

“Ah. You were one of the guys who came around to talk to Dick,” Nixon said, the pieces clicking in place. 

Of course Winters had told him, and maybe described them too even though Nixon genuinely had seemed to not know Lipton’s name. Perhaps it was because Winters had kept the cards with his and Buck’s information to himself. That was a promising thought. “We did meet, yes. He seems like a good man. It’s a shame that he’s involved in this,” Lipton continued. 

“Your buddies already tried that. Dick’s not involved in anything. He’s just my husband, and guilt by association is not yet a thing you can punish people for, not even in the wild west of Chicago,” Nixon said just as calmly as before, but a cold streak had appeared in his voice. There was something dark in his eyes, a look that was just barely shrouded hate, maybe towards the police in general or just the group investigating him at the moment.

Lipton kept his cool and, more importantly, his unthreatening smil. He carried on: “This is not a threat of any kind, Mr. Nixon. We simply must consider all possibilities. You’re a smart man, you must understand why we don’t simply write your husband off. Besides, there’s always the possibility that you’d like to work with us.”

Now Nixon’s eyebrows flew towards his hairline and he looked actually taken aback with surprise. “Work with you? Damn, how desperate are you?”

“We could protect you,” Lipton added.

“Sure, sure,” Nixon scoffed, and suddenly his smirk was back. “Like you protected your witness? Or your partner? Or yourself?” 

A chill ran down Lipton’s spine and if it hadn’t been for his alertness and his experience, his smile would have wavered. He managed to keep his cool but suddenly became very aware of his team’s eyes on his back and that they were listening in. 

But even though his appearances held, the silence lasted too long, and Nixon smiled wider. “Yeah, I figured you were one of those detectives who came to arrest that informant of yours at one of our buildings. I can tell.” He lifted his hand with his fingers loosely curled to his palm and brushed his thumb against his cheek just under his eye, drawing the mirror image of Lipton’s scar. “Looks like it cut deep.”

Lipton willed himself to stay still and not hide his face. There was no use denying what was so plainly out in the open, so he went along with it: “That’s true, I was there. This has been my case from the beginning, but it has snowballed into something bigger. Don’t you agree?”

Nixon was still resting his thumb on his face, the side of a fingernail pressing into his skin. “You tell me, detective. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Lipton ignored the blatant denial and the outrageous lie that it was and once against pushed the phone closer to the man across from him. “It’s a dangerous situation, one where no one can really tell what anyone’s going to do. Now, I know that you’re lying, but that’s not the issue I have with you. My issue is that you, and by extension your husband, are in danger. You’re mixing with some dangerous people, and no matter what you think of the police, we’d like to put those dangerous people away. We could offer you and your husband protection, should you be willing to work with us.”

It was plain on Nixon’s face that it was never going to happen, but something was shifting in his thoughts. There was a mean streak to him, but the way his eyes kept glancing aside and how he was quietly thinking rather than snarking back told Lipton that something had been leveraged. 

“So what am I supposed to do with the phone?” Nixon eventually asked.

Lipton smiled wider and flipped the file on the table closed. “Call your husband. Tell him you’re going to be here for a while, but that he doesn’t need to worry. You have not been arrested, you’re just chatting with us a bit. Have a good night.”

Stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him felt like rising out of the water after a long dive. Pressure lifted and he could breathe freely again, and for a moment Lipton stood in the corridor just calming down and gathering himself again. It had been a tough match between their wills, and he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t taken a punch or two during it.

The door to the observation room opened and Buck peeked into the corridor. “You alright, Lip?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lipton said in a heavy sigh that he hoped would cleanse him from the stuffy air of the interrogation room. 

“That went really well. I think you really got through to him,” Buck said.

“That’s… That’s good,” Lipton said. It was. It meant good things for their case, and maybe they were really getting somewhere. “Would it be okay if I took a moment?” he asked, suddenly realizing that he needed it. 

“Sure, you do that. Just let me take that mockfile, yeah?” Buck agreed, already reaching to the file which Lipton gratefully handed over. 

He decided to walk to gather his bearings and so he started about the corridors of the station. He felt strangely light, but not in a good way. The air of the room and staring Nixon down with a kind and understanding smile had been heavy like the flowing waters of the sea, and now that the pressure had eased Lipton felt strangely squished. He walked like in a daze, the noise of the station irritating him in ways he didn’t understand but none the less noticed, and like on an instinct his legs took him to the main stairwell by the elevators. The heavy metal door creaked when he pushed it open and let out an exhausted groan when it shut behind him, leaving him standing in the quiet and cool stairwell. 

When he stopped to lean on the railing and took a deep breath, his ears picked up on the sound of footsteps that he had missed from his own and the door. He frowned, listened, and leaned over the railing and looked up towards the sound. 

There was a familiar man coming down the stairs towards him.

“Ron?” Carwood asked in astonishment. 

Speirs was dressed in his casual clothes, the familiar dark leather jacket and all. “Oh, hi, Carwood,” he greeted him like a pleasant surprise.

To Lipton he was like a miraculous apparition in his moment of need, and he was smiling before he knew it and rushed up to the man. “What are you doing here?”

Speirs rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of his pocket, showing him a bundle of keys. “One idiot decided not to return the keys to the evidence vault when he left the station today, so I was called up to retrieve and bring them back and make sure everything is in order.” He nodded up indicating the evidence vault upstairs where he was coming from. “The joys of a management position. How about you? What are you still doing here?”

“We’re pulling an all-nighter,” Lipton explained. 

Speirs grimaced in sympathy. “Sounds rough. You alright?”

Lipton always forgot how closely Speirs studied him and noticed if even a hair was out of place. He felt a rush of warmth at being cared for and smiled wider. “I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

Speirs nodded and flashed him a smile, but he was shuffling his feet and Lipton remembered that it was nearly midnight and that he was just passing through. He felt a loss at that, at these small moments when they passed each other and exchanged a few words, maybe made specific plans for the future, but always parted too soon. There wasn’t enough of Speirs in his life now that he had gotten a small taste. Now every moment alone was filled with glaring loneliness he hadn’t minded before, and he didn’t know how to be at peace anymore. 

“Hey, would you like to come over for the weekend?” he asked before he even considered that the suggestion might be overstepping the limits of their still very tenderly new relationship, but he spoke it straight from the deep longing inside him.

Maybe it was the late hour and the odd vulnerability that insomnia brought up, but he wasn’t embarrassed about his words. Even Speirs had a softness to him that he’d only ever seen before they kissed or when they lay in bed together, but despite that there was a regretful twitch in his expression. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Speirs answered. “Some friends are coming to town and I’ve promised to see them, and I’m just too busy.”

“Oh. That’s okay,” Lipton said, but before he could go further, Speirs added:

“But I’d like that very much. Would the next week’s weekend be alright with you?”

Lipton brightened. “Yes, it’s perfect.”

Speirs smiled at him, his gaze flicking away and back up to him as if they were on the edge of something new again. He looked gentle with a smile like that, hovering between two steps and looking at him through his lashes, and suddenly Lipton couldn’t wed this man with the stern image he projected on the clock to others. 

“Okay then,” Speirs said, taking a step into the direction where he had been going before he had been intercepted, “have a good night. Try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll try,” Lipton promised and waved Speirs goodbye. When he left, he took all that warmth and calm with him but left Lipton feeling soothed and steady. 

Back in the observation room, Toye, Guarnere and Buck were discussing football while keeping an eye on Nixon, who was sitting slumped down with his leg bouncing under the table. He looked irritated, but it was impossible to tell how much of the annoyance was simply exhaustion.

“Hey. Anything new?” Lipton asked.

“Nothing much. He called his husband and told him he was here, that’s all,” Buck replied, carefully sizing Lipton up from head to toe as if he had taken a crying break in the bathroom instead of just a short walk around the floor. 

“What did he say?” Lipton asked, sticking to the situation at hand and bearing the look even though he noticed the two others doing the same. He wished he ould have brought Speirs here with him to have someone in his corner.

Buck shrugged. “Told him not to worry, said he’d be probably out by tomorrow afternoon, and that we are just talking.”

“Said he was sorry too,” Toye added. 

“That’s nice,” Lipton said. He could completely buy that the marriage was truly loving, and there was the angle that made his interrogation tactic worthwhile.

“Now the only thing to do is to keep an eye on Bormann. If they plan to make a move or make contact or even kill Nixon, we need to move in and stop it,” Lipton concluded.

“We have around the clock surveillance on him and his inner circle,” Guarnere said. “It’s all under control.”


	15. Fateful encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is the last chapter I will post this decade.   
This chapter has a lot in it, so I hope it's worthy.
> 
> Thank you for kudos and comments, they are so lovely!

They didn’t reach their twenty-four-hour mark exactly, only eighteen hours. By then they had taken two more cracks at Nixon, interrogating and trying to bargain with him, but it turned out that when he grew exhausted instead of unraveling he contained everything and shut down. 

They didn’t get anything out of him aside from a few snarking remarks, but after six hours in the interrogation room his replies turned into just a quirk of an eyebrow, and eventually he stopped doing even that. It was almost impressive how the man could fix his eyes on a spot on the table and sit still and quiet as if he was sleeping with his eyes open, but it put an end to their hopes of getting information out of him. Not even Lipton was able to make him trust them a little.

By midday an officer came to them with a word from Captain Strayer. He didn’t give much details, just a cryptic and strongly worded recommendation that maybe it was time to let their unofficial detainee go. It wasn’t an order nor did it give a reason, but it was the kind of recommendation that was better to be taken seriously. 

They hadn’t made their initial mark, but they didn’t let themselves be too disappointed. They had played a risky game not entirely according to rules, and falling a little short from their original goal wasn’t by any means a defeat. Regardless, the mood in the observation room wasn’t cheerful.

“So, who wants to break the news to him?” Guarnere grumbled, jerking his head towards the window to the interrogation room. 

In a moment of indecisive silence Lipton and Buck made eye contact, shrugged and took the job without a word needed. They were all too tired to muster up much more than just plain professionalism, and all of that energy came from thinking about the lunch they’d soon get. 

Buck threw the door open and let it bang against the wall, the sudden noise making Nixon startle up on his seat. “Alright, get up and let’s go,” Buck ordered.

Lipton stayed behind by the door when Buck approached the table and slammed down the box with Nixon’s belongings that had been confiscated earlier. “Come on, I’m sure we’d all like to go shower and get lunch,” he said and topped it off with a yawn.

Nixon only stared back at him. He looked exhausted, his stubble a day old and his skin under it pale and waxy. There were dark shadows under his eyes, but the look in them was sharpening as he woke up. He quickly gathered his belongings and threw his suit jacket and coat back on.

“Can I go now? Husband worries,” he said, mock polite and ever so slightly sneering, like a child talking back at a meanspirited parent, but so slightly that the tone couldn’t quite be called out and punished. Lipton doubted Buck picked up on the subtlety, just the sarcasm.

Buck had to agree, but it didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth. “You are free to go. Please keep this conversation in mind and don’t hesitate to call us if anything relevant comes to mind.”

The corner of Nixon’s mouth quirked up, like he was both amused and impressed that Buck was keeping the game going until the end. “Yeah, sure.” 

Lipton huffed his disappointment quietly to himself and stepped out to wait for Buck and Nixon in the corridor. 

They had to escort him down to the lobby, and even though his loathing look said a lot, Nixon didn’t make any comment about it. As soon as they stepped into the elevator, Nixon took his phone out of his coat’s side pocket and quickly tapped in his long password to check his messages. “Oh, won’t you look at that. I have a ride waiting for me,” he chuckled. 

The ride turned out to be Winters. He was waiting in the lobby with his coat folded over his arm, a polite but stiff smile on his face and locked into a staring contest with Speirs who had refused to allow him further than the front desk. Winters was dressed in jeans and a blue button-down, but the way he was standing practically in parade rest screamed military to everyone around him and made them leave him a wide circle of personal space when passing. 

Back behind the front desk Speirs was giving him back the same vibe including the posture, and Lipton felt a rush of affection towards him. 

When Lipton and Buck pushed through the gates with Nixon, Winters’ demeanor melted and his steely serenity turned into open relief. 

“Lew!” he cried out, rushing to meet them.

Buck and Lipton stopped by the front desk, and without once glancing back Nixon went straight to his husband, who threw his arms around him and collapsed against him. “Lew,” he sighed again, “Can we leave?”

“Yes, we can leave,” Nixon answered. “It was a misunderstanding, don’t worry about it.”

Winters hugged him tight and turned his face to kiss him on the cheek without paying any mind to the scruffy stubble. Over Nixon’s shoulder Winters gave Lipton and Buck a puzzled and maybe even betrayed look laced with worry, but Lipton had to admit he couldn’t read the man well enough to be sure. 

Nixon patted Winters gently on the back. “Okay. Come on, let’s go,” he said, carefully pushing the man away from his arms.

Winters took his arm and leaned on his side, and together they walked out of the station, neither one looking back. 

Buck crossed his arms. “Well. How do you think that went?”

Lipton shrugged. “We shook the criminal tree, now let’s see what falls out. Only time will tell, I suppose.” 

*

Dick didn’t ask any questions when they drove home, and Lewis was grateful for that. Dick drove, and so Lewis had time to worry about the incident. He was sure the police had no real reason to bring him in and that they were just beating around the bush as was evident in how fast they had let him go, but the incident could still have consequences. Business was already difficult, and even though Lewis was certain that the police had no evidence on him, being detained was certainly not a good look for him.

He was guilty, and even though the detectives couldn’t prove it, they knew it. They knew who was involved too, and even though Lewis liked to pride himself in his updated, innovative and delicate operations, he had to admit that recognizing their customers was more than they had ever had on his father.

Speaking of which, Lewis knew he had to call him. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, but still something about it made Lewis’ mouth twitch almost like he wanted to smile. There was nothing funny about the ordeal, and certainly not about having to tell his father that he had gotten the business – and himself – in trouble, but still some sick urge in him made him want to grin. He wondered if it was the same urge that as a boy had made him deliberately disobey his father and go play in his office with great risks of breaking something. 

Lewis forced the smile down and tried to map out his problems in his mind, starting from the most pressing one. He was acutely aware of Dick next to him at the wheel and wondered how he would make all this go away. The check Stanhope had pushed on him to pacify his spouse burned in his wallet. 

Lewis risked a few subtle glances at Dick and saw his carefully schooled professional expression, the cool mask of no emotion at all. There were no traces of the worry he had displayed at the station, and Lewis had to admit he couldn’t even guess what the other was thinking. He didn’t want to do anything to disturb that calm yet, and so the drive back home was quiet. 

They didn’t speak when they got there either, not when Dick parked, or when they got into the building and took the elevator to the top floor. 

Lewis tried to feel the energy between them, but Dick didn’t seem sad, angry or agitated. He was tense in a way that indicated that he had something to say, and Lewis followed him rather meekly, waiting for him to make the first move. 

As soon as the front door closed behind them, the dogs bounced up and ran to greet them, their paws slipping on the wooden floors and their tails wagging so hard their entire bodies wagged with them. Only their good training kept them from jumping and barking, but both were whining and puffing with barely contained excitement.

“Look who came home, darlings, the pack is complete again,” Dick said to the dogs and crouched down to pet them the best he could while they restlessly circled him and sniffed and licked his hands. Lollipop had one of the decorative pillows from the couch in her mouth and her soulful brown eyes looked like she was expecting praise for retrieving it. 

Dick tutted at her, took the pillow away and then pushed past the dogs to return it to its proper place.

Lewis watched him go, then knelt on the floor to properly greet the dogs who happily jumped at him. “Hello! Yeah, daddy’s home! Did you miss me, huh? Did you?” he cooed at Lollipop and Radisson as they both crowded him, whining and sniffing and pushing their wet snouts to his face and neck and ears, both trying to fit their large bodies into his lap while also being too excited to stay still. 

While cuddling with the dogs Lewis subtly spied on Dick, who still hadn’t said anything to him. He planted the decorative pillow on the couch where it belonged, then went to open the balcony doors to check on his garden despite it being only frozen pots and flowerbeds covered with evergreen branches and tarps. Lewis felt groggy after the sleepless night at the police station, but still he summoned the strength to prepare to face his husband. 

Dick couldn’t distract himself with his garden for long, and after sweeping the floor and needlessly adjusting some of the tarps over the vegetable beds, he closed the doors and went to the kitchen instead. 

Lewis knew how much he loved the garden and didn’t dare to disturb him there, but he did cautiously follow him to the kitchen. 

Dinner was miraculously already on its way. Dick had a mixing bowl of cubed and marinated vegetables ready for oven, a salad and some chicken fillets on the counter, and he was oiling the frying pan that he set on the stove. There were two plates and utensils readied on the kitchen isle, but Lewis didn’t dare to invade his husband’s territory even to help with those.

Lewis hovered awkwardly back and out of the way while Dick worked, and the silence screamed for answers.

“Look, there’s nothing to worry about,” Lewis began. ”They thought I could maybe help them, that’s all, but I have nothing to help them with. I’m sorry if I made you worried by staying there overnight.”

Dick directed a sharp look at him. ”’By staying?’ To me it looked like the police was detaining you.”

Lewis gave a weak laugh. ”Oh, no, nothing like that. Just some financial matters, but those have nothing to do with me.” 

Dick narrowed his eyes, then turned to the stove. He took the mixing bowl, peeled off the wrapping and poured the marinated vegetable mix on a baking tray. “I’ve never heard of anyone the police politely took to the station and then kept there for a full night while refusing to explain anything to their spouse.”

Dick had his back to him, but still Lewis shrugged at the comment. ”That’s Chicago’s finest for you. Rude bastards.”

Dick wasn’t amused and sliced the chicken fillets thinner with quick and hard slices of a knife. “You told me that there’s nothing to worry about. Were you honest?” he asked.

Lewis swallowed. ”Yeah, of course I was."

Dick turned around and studied him closely with his piercing eyes, his mouth a pale, thin line. “Then be honest with me now too. Are you in some sort of trouble? Do you need help?”

Lewis shook his head and did his best to smile reassuringly. ”I’m not in trouble, darling. It’s just a misunderstanding and I’ll sort it out.”

“I mean it, Lew. Do you need help?”

Lewis grew serious. “No. I told you, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Dick stared at him, unblinking and unwavering, trying his absolute hardest to see through his husband for any lies. His expression didn’t shift to reflect any kind of satisfactory conclusion, but eventually with a huff he returned to cooking and said in softer voice: “You should go take a shower before we eat. You smell.”

Lewis smiled sheepishly and spread his arms, aware of the sweat stains on his shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Lewis had time to ponder the situation more in the shower. He could tell that Dick was worried but not suspicious – yet. Of course he worried, he always worried, and Lewis couldn’t exactly fault him for that or be frustrated with him. Dick was so sweet and caring by nature and he loved Lewis, he truly did, so of course he cared about his safety, and Lewis just couldn’t bring himself to think of that as even an inconvenience. It was nice to have someone who cared for him, genuinely and selflessly.

Sometimes he still couldn’t quite believe that he had someone like that in his life, which was all the more reason to keep him out of harm’s way.

He didn’t waste too time in the shower, just scrubbed himself clean and washed his hair, decided not to care about his beard, and went to the bedroom to get clean clothes. He took a pair of underwear, black slacks and the first clean t-shirt that happened to be within reach, dressed and then wandered off to the living-room while toweling his hair. The sound of sizzling oil was coming from the kitchen and it was starting to smell a lot like dinner. Having been starved since last evening, Lewis felt his mouth watering at the thought of tender, breaded chicken fillet and baked vegetables. 

“Smells good!” he called to the kitchen while petting Lollipop that had flopped down on the carpet in the living-room, her tail lazily beating against the floor.

“Thanks,” Dick replied, “would you like a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” Lewis answered. Just a glass along with a meal, that was something Dick might even join him for. 

The doorbell rang and interrupted Lewis’ fond thoughts of the meal. “I’ll get it!” he told Dick in the kitchen and went to the door. He didn’t even look through the peephole, just opened the door, and then froze in place.

The two men that stood at the door weren’t total strangers, but that much more unwanted quests. 

“Mr. Nixon,” said the one standing in the front with a blank face. “Might we come in?” he asked while already pushing over the threshold.

Lewis took a few quick steps back and eyed his surprise guests quickly. Both men were dark-haired and wore grey suits. The man in the front was taller and had messy thick eyebrows. His companion had a stocky frame, round face and a scar on his neck, and followed in his footsteps with his hands in his trouser pockets. 

“This is very inappropriate,” Lewis noted as he retreated backwards in his own hallway. 

The second man kicked the door shut behind him. “Our boss agrees. Our business interaction has not gone as advertised.” 

“He is also very unhappy about your visit to the local police station. He thinks it suspicious,” the first one added.

“Oh, and you coming here right after I’m released isn’t?” Lewis said drily. 

The man with the eyebrows had a joyless smile and blank eyes, and he stared Lewis down and stalked after him. “We are running out of patience, Mr. Nixon. We have done business in civilized manner until now, but should you get cold feet now or sell us out, we assure you that things will become very uncivilized very fast.”

Lewis kept walking and the two men kept following until they made their way from the hallway to the living-room. 

“Is that what you think is going on here? That I’m mixing police into this?” Lewis hissed, lowering his voice.

“The operation can’t have weak links,” Scar-Neck said, his English heavily accented. “We’ve already had several with you.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “That would have been a bump in the road, tops. What we have now is a major problem, and you’re making it worse.” He gritted his teeth and listened to the sounds from the kitchen anxiously. The frying pan was still sizzling, but Dick hadn’t come out to see what the commotion was about, and Lewis hoped he wasn’t listening in either.

Eyebrows stopped and crossed his hands before him like in a prayer. He tilted his head and stared rudely right at Lewis. “We are here to make sure that the deal is still on. If there are additional problems, our boss is going to be very displeased with you. Even more than he already is.” 

Lewis huffed a dry laugh and rolled his eyes. “Your bothering me is not helping, trust me. These things take time and there’s no other choice than to just ride it out, okay? I know what I’m doing, I’m a professional. I’m not at all sure the same can be said of you with your rude posturing, walking up to me in public without an invitation, and now intruding my home, though.” 

“You’re a glorified accountant,” Scar-Neck snapped through his teeth, “you should run your mouth less and work more, and work fast. We don’t trust money-meddling weasels in the first place, and our good faith has limits. You don’t want to find them.” 

Lewis wrinkled his nose at the crude threat, and Eyebrows turned to give his companion a calming hand gesture, then returned to bullying Lewis. Lewis glanced towards the kitchen again, more anxious now that voices had been raised. Dick must have heard at least something, and even if he hadn’t, he’d still want to know who had been at the door soon enough. 

“Mr. Nixon,” said Eyebrows, who had followed Lewis’ gaze with his own, “we must apologize to you for this inconvenient moment, you are clearly busy. Am I correct to assume that that is your partner in the other room?” 

Lewis didn’t have an answer ready, he just frowned. “My husband. This is our home, which you are invading with business _that doesn’t belong here_,” he said coldly. 

Eyebrows smiled, chilly and fake-polite. “Of course. It’s your family, and we’d hate to be a burden to either one of you,” he said, silky smooth and slow, while his companion’s shoulders jumped with a voiceless laugh. 

“Hello. Is there something the matter?” asked a new voice from the kitchen. 

Lewis felt his heart jump to his throat and he nearly chocked. 

Dick had come out of the kitchen and was now standing there in the doorway, glancing between Lewis and the two strangers. There was a single confused crease between his brows as he tried to read the situation.

“It’s fine! It’s just business,” Lewis rushed to assure him, then turned to glare at the visitors. “There have been some delays in the schedule, but it’s all sorted out now. They were just leaving.” 

“Good day, Mr. Winters,” Eyebrows greeted with a too wide smile, his watery eyes flicking over Dick quickly, “we just brought a message to Mr. Nixon from our boss. We were on our way out.”

His manners were like an automated function so Dick nodded to them both, but his posture was rigid and the look in his eyes reserved. His arms hung stiff by his sides giving him the look of someone ready to bolt at any moment. “We were actually about to sit down and eat, so good day to you, gentlemen,” he said in a voice that was remarkably calm. 

“Of course. Excuse us,” Eyebrows said and gave Lewis one last freezing look before he and Scar-Neck retreated back to the hallway and out of the still cracked open door. The door slammed behind them, and Lewis could breathe again. 

“Dick, are you okay?” he asked and rushed to his husband’s side, grasping his stiff arms. 

“I’m fine, Lew,” Dick replied calmly and released a controlled, deep breath that did nothing to relax his posture.

“You sure? I’m so sorry, you know I don’t want to bring work home, but this case is really following me and it’s really unpleasant to all parties…” Lewis rambled his explanations while rubbing Dick’s arms, uncertain how to help so fumbling at everything at once. “This is a really difficult customer, and I’m really sorry you had to hear that.” 

“It’s fine, really,” Dick replied, his posture slowly melting under Lewis’ tending. 

For the first time Lewis realized that Dick was holding something in his hand, the one that had been hidden by his side away from the hallway, and he took his wrist and lifted his hand to take a look. In a white-knuckled grip Dick was holding a corkscrew, and when Lewis kept staring at it, he huffed a nervous laugh but didn’t loosen his fingers.

“Let’s put this down, yeah?” Lewis suggested gently while prying the little kitchen tool from his hand. 

“Sure,” Dick agreed, and when his fingers finally let go, he held onto Lewis’ arms. “I just got the bottle open when they came in. Lew…” he hesitated, his gaze wandering for a second before he focused his openly worried eyes on his husband. “Are you _sure_ you don’t need any help? That didn’t sound very nice. And you never meet customers at home.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine! It’s fine, I promise,” Lewis swore, leaning in to kiss Dick on the cheek while petting his shoulders and chest with his hands. “You know how much you mean to me, don’t you? You know I wouldn’t risk us for anything, right? So don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, just like I promised.”

Dick sighed and lowered his gaze, but he leaned into the kiss and let the subject drop. 

*

The hotel in Italy was an old, beautiful building with golden railings, crystal chandeliers and everything draped in luxurious red, gold and ivory. All the ceilings arched so high that the place felt more like a church than a hotel, and every single member of the staff from the waiters, gardeners and maids to the chefs and receptionists and the management seemed to feel privileged to be working there. 

It seemed like the very heart of the city with how lively it was, and no wonder with its magnificent pools, spa, two restaurants, fancy bars and eight stories of sinfully expensive rooms. Every window had a magnificent view, either of pale rocky hills sloping down to a white-sanded beach or the lovely city of white and red buildings with tile roofs that were shimmering hot under the summer sun. 

It was only their first evening there when Lewis crashed a private party of a conference of some sort that was held in the ballroom, befriended half of the crowd and got spectacularly drunk. The hour was late in the night when Dick decided that he had had enough fun for the day.

Lewis didn’t want to leave the party but allowed himself be dragged away anyway, drunk and as such in a good mood, overtly affectionate and accidentally cooperative as he wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. He shamelessly slumped against Dick as he was steered towards the doors, waving and wishing goodnight to everyone left and right.

“Hi to you too, darling,” Lewis sighed directly into Dick’s ear without a warning. Dick didn’t respond, just leaned away and blushed like he always did when anyone was even a little bit flirty towards him. Lewis thought it was funny. 

“Bye, everyone! Have a great one!” Lewis shouted over his shoulder to his new friends, who laughed and wished him goodnight by toasting their glasses and waving. From the corner of his eye Lewis spotted an unattended, half full bottle of champagne in a cooler, snatched it and took it with him when they left. 

Dick hauled Lewis up the stairs and, probably out of some sort of passive-aggressive wish to punish him for the evening, made him walk all seven flights to their floor. 

When they finally got to their suite, Lewis peeled himself off Dick’s side and staggered into the room. “Never let it be said that I’m not athletic!” he declared like walking up the stairs was a sport, wandered into the living-room area and collapsed behind the couch in front of the glass doors of the balcony. He sighed, leaned against the soft back of the velvet couch and stared into the dark night illuminated by the pale lights of the city and the moon that painted its bridge into the dark waves of the sea. 

Dick moved about the room, probably ditching his jacket and shoes and checking after the housekeeper, before he came to find Lewis behind the couch.

“What are you doing?” Dick asked, a gentle note of amusement in his voice despite his earlier frustration.

Lewis peered up to him and grinned. “I’m enjoying the view! Come, join me.” He toasted with the stolen champagne and reached to yank at Dick’s pant leg, and with a meek smile on his face Dick sat down next to him. 

For a moment they just sat on the carpet and leaned their backs on the couch. Lewis sipped champagne from the bottle, uncaring of the water from melted ice drawing wet circles wherever he set it down.

“This was a fun evening,” he said with a smile. “Did you enjoy it as much as I did, even though you don’t drink?”

Dick huffed, half laughing and half scoffing at the comment. “Drinking doesn’t make things fun, Lew.”

“It does for me.”

“Right.” Dick sat with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, his head turned so that he was half looking at the view and half inspecting Lewis. 

Lewis in turn was openly staring only at Dick. “No, really, did you have a good time?” 

Dick turned to give him a better look, something softening in his eyes. “Yeah, I did. With you it’s always a good time. Even when I get my workout in hauling you up the stairs.”

It was a satisfactory answer, and Lewis took a long drink from the bottle. “I guess army was more glorious than this, huh?”

The softness was gone in a flash and Dick grimaced. “No, not really.” 

The bottle was already on its way to Lewis’ lips again, but the sudden change in the mood made him lower it back down. “It wasn’t?”

Dick took a deep, slow inhale of air. “No,” he said and paused, and Lewis thought he was about to leave it at that like he had before, but then he continued. “Well… At the time I thought it was. I had training, I had an agenda, I had a purpose. It’s quite the luxury, to have a purpose in everything you do, every day of your life. And you have comrades like you won’t find anywhere else.” 

He didn’t speak about his time in service virtually at all, but neither did he talk about what he had been doing before the Nixons had hired him, so Lewis rarely thought much of it. Private business was private business after all, but there was something like a testimony happening now and so he paid attetion.

Lewis raised his brows at him and adopted a more serious expression. “Then what? What was the problem?”

Dick gave him a strained smile and turned to stare outside. He was quiet for a while, his fingers worrying a wrinkle on his trousers, and he threw a few considering glances at Lewis while picking his words. “The problem was that I was really good at it,” he started, his tone aiming for lightness but his words coming out slightly choked. “I was an officer and I got promotions fast, and someone thought me fitting so I was sent out to special training, and when I excelled at that I was offered a place in a more exclusive and highly classified training program. And I thought, what’s the harm in some special training, it would be stupid to pass on education when it’s offered for free, and so I accepted. Only, the education military offers is not like anything else.” He paused again, blinking rapidly. He didn’t look at Lewis, but after a moment carried on: “That education is bad. It leads to practicing it, and I practiced it all for many years in Afghanistan. And then in the end, when you have given it your all and you’re no longer the right age, you have outlived your usefulness, and they’ll toss you aside. They used me up, then put a classified stamp on all my records, and discharged me. All my records are bogus, and they give me no rights to anything. No benefits, no G.I. bill. I was out, and with nothing.” 

“Fuck.” It was all Lewis could say, and it wasn’t even vulgar enough. 

Dick nodded. “I found that there’s not much of a future for someone like that. Other than being for sale, that is.”

“And you don’t… Like it?”

Dick turned to give him a withering look from the corner of his eye. 

Lewis backed off. “Yeah, okay, I know, a stupid question. Forget that I said that.” He took a swig of champagne, and thinking about his father’s money wondered not for the first time how much he had paid for his ‘companion’. But he knew better than to ask, and he wanted to banish that haunted look from Dick’s face before he could chew his lip bloody, and so he said the first thing that came to mind: “What would you do if you could do anything in the world?”

Dick frowned and turned to give him a confused look. Lewis just took another drink and shrugged, secretly enjoying how the sudden change of subject shook the misty look from his friend’s eyes. “What do you dream of? What’s your dream life like?” he pressed. 

Dick took a deep breath and turned to look out to the sea again. The view offered no escape, but then again there was no harm in musing a little bit every now and then. Especially not in the company of Lewis, who talked a lot and asked many questions but had very few to reveal anything to. 

“I’d like to go back to growing things,” Dick said. “I grew up on a farm, and even though it’s hard labor every single day of your life, I still liked it. It’s rewarding. Peaceful. And very ordinary. I like growing things, and I like animals.”

Lewis listened keenly, even the bottle forgotten. “What would you grow? Wheat? Corn?”

Dick shrugged. “You’d have to sow and harvest a lot of those for it to be profitable, so I don’t know.”

Lewis elbowed him gently. “This is your dream, don’t worry about the finances, just what you like.”

It may have been impossible for Dick not to worry about pragmatics like that, but he made an effort. “I’d like to grow a variety of things, and keep animals too. I like horses, and I like birds. Chickens and geese that could roam free. Potatoes grown in a sandy soil come out really good, and we’d eat them with brown sauce and butter.” 

Lewis listened, transfixed. He had always been a city kid and life in the countryside sounded foreign to him, but oddly nice. He knew he was just sugarcoating it in his mind now that he had only an image of it, but he allowed himself to enjoy it anyway. He had a vision of a large ranch somewhere, surrounded by apple trees and a garden and with a large stable on the grounds with happy, energetic workhorses in it, none of those prim and delicate racer things his father’s friends owned. He imagined fat birds wandering the yard, and big dogs lounging on the patio, and in the daydream a thought of crisp early mornings was beautiful. And in the middle of it all was Dick, clad in jeans and a flannel shirt, relaxed and happy, an easy smile on his handsome face that had forgotten all about war, death and the filth smeared on him. 

“What about you?” Dick asked suddenly, yanking Lewis out of his dream. 

“What about me?” he asked, startled.

“What do you dream about? What would you do if you could do anything and worry about nothing?” Dick asked. He was looking directly at Lewis, his blue eyes soft and curious, a far cry from the stern professional look he usually had in them.

Lewis licked his lips and swallowed. No one had asked him anything like that, ever. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose I can already do whatever I want, considering how much money my family has.”

Dick raised an eyebrow in that slightly amused way that seemed to say ‘oh, Lew’ like Dick knew Lewis better than he did himself. It was an accelerating thought. “But what do you dream about?” Dick asked again.

_I don’t. I live from drink to drink_ Lewis thought of saying, but he had an unsettling feeling that he would be more serious than joking, and Dick would get that worried crease on his forehead at that. Lewis pondered the question again. 

“Well, I like to travel. That’s the best thing about all of this,” he said. “Or just being away from home is good. I was sent to a boarding school as a kid, and then I went to college at Yale and let me tell you, those were the best days of my youth. But traveling, seeing places, new people and new sights, that’s the best thing. I love Europe, all of it, from south to north and from east to west, there’re amazing things everywhere, and I love Asia for the excitement and how different it is from anything in the west. All those countries and their ways of life remind you how different everything can be. I haven’t been to Africa that much yet, but the few places I have seen are wonderful.” 

Dick listened quietly, sometimes nodding or humming to show that he listened, and Lewis just kept talking until his mouth dried.

Lewis took a long swig from the bottle, his thoughts suddenly darkening. “You know what I’m afraid of? Like, really afraid of?” 

“What?” Dick asked, his voice soft. He did the thing he always did with his voice, promising neutrality and acceptance with the tone alone. There was something about Dick that was always open, like he was the kind of a person who never turned away from anything but faced all things and people like they really were. There was no denial in him. 

That was what made Lewis continue: “That I’ll grow old and give that all up. That I’ll become boring and weak and tired and stay in one place, cooped up in an office like my dad, and then just slowly wither away, all alone.” He took a drink and slumped down some more, ending up leaning on Dick’s side as much as on the couch behind him. “Maybe I’ll just… Blow my brains out when the time comes,” he said, chuckling, “put an end to things when I can still move.” 

Dick was quiet for a moment, thoughtful in the way he was when strategizing. It was funny how his soldiery way of doing things seemed to apply to everything he did, and Lewis wondered if he had been like that before the army or if this was what army had molded him into. A painful current of something went through Lewis when he thought of some outside force getting to Dick and transforming him in a way that meant that Lewis couldn’t know him as he had always been.

Lewis didn’t let him finish whatever it was he was coming up with. “You won’t be there either, so what would be the point of going on? You’ll leave as soon as I decide to go back home, so actually I have decades of loneliness ahead of me.”

“Didn’t you run away from home?” Dick asked.

Lewis gave a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah, but I’ll go back eventually, we all know that I will. What else I’m going to do, huh? No, I’ll run back home after I’ve aired my ego enough. You know my mom’s sending me money monthly? So I’m not even really cut off.” 

“Oh,” was all that Dick said to that. Then, after a pause, asked another question: “If you could do anything in the world right now, what would it be?”

It was a surprisingly easy question. The answer came to Lewis right away and made him smile. “I’d go home to Chicago, take you there with me and keep you.” He turned to grin up at Dick, who in turn was looking way too touched and serious for such a throwaway line, but his expression made Lewis grow more sincere. “I haven’t ever had a friend like you,” he confessed. 

Dick’s mouth quirked into a smile before turning serious again, and suddenly Lewis became very aware of how close they were, practically cuddling while pressed against each other from shoulders to hips. Dick’s lips were slightly agape, and so close Lewis could see a strip of the wet inside of his mouth. When he looked up to his eyes, he saw Dick staring at him, watching him watching his mouth, and a new urge surged up from somewhere deep in Lewis’ core. 

He leaned up across the little distance there was and planted a kiss on Dick’s mouth, wet and clumsy with alcohol. His heart thumped like in peril, and even more so when instead of startling away, Dick kissed him back. The moment was thrilling, a shot of electricity that brought him back to life, something that pierced right through the haze of intoxication and all the humdrum of his life. Everything came to focus, sharp and clear, and all of it was right here where their lips joined. Dick's mouth tasted of nougat ice cream.

They broke apart, leaned back into their own space a bit, and Lewis opened his eyes. Dick was looking at him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, his cheeks rosy and his mouth kissed red, his breath whooshing out of him slightly more labored than usual. His eyes searched Lewis’, and what Lewis saw there was a dizzying amount of want. 

It spooked him. Lewis let out a startled laugh and averted his gaze. There were so many feelings suddenly swirling inside him, excitement and fright and something throbbing and sweet, too many for him to know what to do with, so he dashed forward again, planted a second kiss on the corner of Dick’s mouth like a child on a dare, then scrambled up to his feet.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight,” he blurted before escaping to the bedroom and hiding under his covers.


	16. A bad week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Long time, no see, but here's the result of my using the limited free time wisely. Getting to publish something new is a real treat for me, especially on a longer story such as this one. 
> 
> So I really hope you'll enjoy this chapter! If you do, you could leave kudos or even one of those comments every writer loves.

Lipton knew immediately it wasn’t about to be a good day when he arrived at work. He wasn’t late but still the last one to arrive, and the three others of his team were all standing around their desks, looking grim. Lipton felt the bad feeling creeping on at the sight of them.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Commander Strayer wants to see us in his office,” Toye announced, his face like stone. 

At the very moment a clearly enraged Commander Strayer appeared from his office to the floor. “Guarnere, Toye, Compton and Lipton! In my office. Now!” His jaw was squared and his eyes were blazing from an otherwise stony face in a way that promised trouble.

They had no choice but to follow the commander into his office while receiving badly concealed pitying and curious looks from all their colleagues. It didn’t take a genius to guess what the topic of their reprimand was going to be, but still Lipton felt unprepared when he closed the door behind them.

As soon as the four detectives had lined up before his desk, Commander Strayer wasted no time. “I want to know what you four were thinking when you brought Nixon here? There’s no paperwork, no official charges, nothing! Not a trace of proper police work! Where do you think you are?!”

Guarnere shifted with a defiant frown on his face. “Sir – “

“No, you shut up, Guarnere!” Strayer interrupted him before he had even started. He pointed an accusing finger towards him. “You are a detective, not a beat cop who can get away with anything! And Toye, I expected better from you! You’re supposed to rein your partner in, not go along with his wild stunts!”

His voice was steadily gaining steam and wrath, and after that shut down no one else tried to interrupt or defend themselves. Strayer stared at each one of them and his gaze spoke of his displeasure at least as loudly as his words.

“Does any one of you understand the gravity of this situation?! There are official channels through which we do things, and for a good reason! This may be Chicago, but we are still a law enforcement organization! That means we follow the goddam law that we enforce!

“Do you have any idea what a person like Nixon could do in a situation like this? If you stretch the rules a bit and bully some corner dope dealer, no one cares. But if you go after someone like Lewis fucking Nixon, he’ll have an army of lawyers up our asses in no time! You can forget about getting this to any court, you may even have to forget about your careers! Let this be the last damn time I have to lecture you about stepping out of line in this investigation!” He was smacking the side of his hand against his palm to emphasize his words, and even though he had led with the ethical side of their profession, he made it clear that he was just as if not more worried about the potential legal consequences a suspect like Nixon could bring them. It was the unavoidable reality of law enforcement: the ethical questions were not theoretical, and the very concrete consequences for everyone involved took priority over technicalities.

Strayer huffed and puffed in his anger and seemed unable to decide whether he wanted to squeeze his hands into fists by his side or keep them on his hips. Evidently neither pose fully radiated enough fury, so he was left restlessly shifting between them while gritting his teeth. “And not only that… But you have endangered our suspect, and on purpose too. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Bormann is dangerous, and you have just made his business partner, our suspect, look very, very bad in his eyes. You have put in danger not only Nixon, but possibly everyone around him. This is not the way to draw out the hitman you’re chasing.”

Now Toye just had to interject, which he managed with his steady drawl and a simple fact: “Sir, we have a twenty four-hour surveillance on both our suspects. Bormann or his goons can’t even order a sauerkraut sandwich without us knowing.”

Strayer couldn’t fully deny that but still he narrowed his eyes at Toye. “You better hope that’s the case. Because if you lose control with this one, you have really truly lost it. You hear me? I shouldn’t have to tell you that people get hurt in situations like this. This should be abundantly clear at least to some of us.”

He looked at Lipton then, who felt the cold trickle of shame and something else crawling in his skin. 

Lipton knew that the commander meant Gordon, and even though their move with Nixon with all of its questionable legal aspects had been a calculated risk, right then he couldn’t remember a single good reason. All he could think of was how he and Gordon had walked into a situation they had greatly misjudged and Gordon had nearly died. 

“Yes, sir,” Lipton managed to acknowledge with a dry voice.

Commander Strayer nodded, then glared at each one of them once more for good measure. “Now get out of my sight.” 

They left the office in silence and didn’t stop at the office floor either. They went straight to the conference room and closed the door, but even in the privacy of the room they didn’t speak right away. In silence it was clear that being told off like that had stung, some more than others. 

“Well then,” Toye said, recovering first. “You heared him. We better make damn sure we bring this one in with honors, or else.” 

“We should brief the surveillance teams again, just to bring them up to speed and make everyone refocus, just in case,” Buck added mildly and got agreeing noises in return. 

With a few other additions to their plans of approach and a couple of reassuring comments to one another, they got back to work. It was about to become a boring week, but there was something that had dislodged in Lipton’s thoughts that followed him through it despite the relaxed atmosphere. 

It was getting to him, he could tell. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, that slow creep of nerves slowly unbalancing his focus and his entire being, but he still recognized it for what it was. What he couldn’t tell was why it was happening to him and why now. Lipton had never been a fidgety cop and never a nervous person. If anything, his patience and level head were things he had considered his strengths all the way since the police academy and even before that, things that gave him his own unique way and ability to act.

But now something was eating away at it. Lipton found it worrisome. He didn’t know why he felt like this, so off-center and weirdly foggy, like he couldn’t quite think ahead and plan his actions in consistent and reliable manner like he had before. It had been fine when they had come up with the plan and he had been fine going through with it, but something had ticked him off later. He just couldn’t say what. He had been told off before, he had been in tough situations before, and he had certainly stared down worse criminals than Nixon with a smile on his face, but things just weren’t like they used to be.

Lipton hated it. It was frustrating to not be able to see the next step he should take or even calm himself enough to feel grounded and steady in his current situation. He hoped the feeling would go away during Tuesday or at least be gone by the time he woke up on Wednesday, but still Thursday morning was just as hazy as the days before. 

Lipton woke up on his own half past four, way too early even for his morning shift, and couldn’t go back to sleep anymore. He tried working out, but not only his mind but his body too refused to work with him, and weights felt heavier and his body stiffer and weaker than they should have. He finished his workout grumpy and aching barely halfway through his routine, and he didn’t even have an understanding smile in him to give to the second floor’s old lady who caught him in the hallway to rant about an illegally parked car by their building, perhaps hoping that as a police detective Lipton could do something about that. 

The day went past just about as well as the morning. It was painful, and Lipton managed to get himself stuck with routine paperwork that shouldn’t have been a problem for a cop with his experience, and when he got home he was just about ready for bed even though it was only afternoon. 

But time be damned, he was exhausted. He collapsed on his couch and let out a long, weary sigh and groaned at nothing in particular. The whole day had been awful, and he had a nasty feeling that worse things were in store for him yet. Nothing had gone according to plan, not even paperwork or eating, and Lipton felt wretched and beaten up. Usually he would have picked himself up and made himself go for a run or to the gym to get rid of that pesky feeling, but his body felt bruised and weak today, so he stayed on the couch. 

He didn’t watch enough tv to justify paying for a streaming service, but this was a day when he used his privilege of knowing Gordon’s Netflix password and put on a series that he could use to pass the time until it would be sensible to go to bed. 

When the doorbell rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and no one showed up without at least texting first.

He sneaked to the door, looked through the peephole and felt his throat tightening. When he opened his front door, heart hammering, he felt a deep-seethed tension running out of him like ice melting in the spring sun. 

Speirs gave him an almost sheepish smile and lifted a large take-out bag. “I was feeling sorry for not making the weekend, so I decided to drop by. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s the first okay thing about this whole week,” Lipton sighed, more honest than he had meant to be. 

Speirs smiled, the expression taking a warmer tone. He looked almost yearning, and Lipton wished to lean in and just hold him. Instead, he stepped aside and let the man inside. He wanted to hug and kiss him, but held himself back and simply took him by the wrist and pulled him inside. 

Lipton held Speirs’ hand for a moment longer when he walked him to his small living-room. He felt Speirs’ eyes on him, inspecting.

“Are you okay?” Speirs asked. It was as if he had sensed the tension just from skin contact. 

Lipton threw himself on the couch and smiled. “Yeah,” he said. Speirs kept staring at him, head tilted and still holding the white paper bag full of something hot that smelled delicious. His green eyes were sharp, and Lipton felt his smile faltering.

“It’s been a bad week,” he said. “I’m tired.” He rubbed his face, fingers rough on his waxy skin and patches of stubble scratching him. He felt small and slightly pathetic sitting on his couch with his head hanging, but despite the spark of discomfort he didn’t know what else to do.

Speirs looked at him silently, something neutral but still caring in his eyes. He set the take-out bag on the coffee table where it left a steamy spot on the glass surface, then took off a black backpack he was carrying and his leather jacket, setting them both near on the floor. 

“I assume you can’t tell me much,” Speirs said.

Lipton shrugged and gave him a strained smile. Of course he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to spill the beans about absolutely everything. 

Speirs circled the coffee table and sat down next to him on the couch, and Lipton kept a subtle eye on him all the while, watching his calm figure from the corner of his eye. He sat down close, pressed his thigh against Lipton’s too firmly for it to be incidental, and then just existed by his side as if he had always been there. 

Then he nodded towards the paper bag on the table. “I brought a spicy chicken burrito and fries,” he said. “I thought you’d like that.” 

Lipton glanced first at Speirs, who was staring slightly past him like he was uncertain of the reception of his gift, and then at the tightly sealed take-away bag. For the first time during the week, Lipton felt the painful rumble of hunger in his gut and was in the mood of eating something. He reached for the bag, picked it up and opened it. The rich smell of cooked chicken, hot sauce, fresh vegetables and spicy potato fries whiffed out of the bag and made the hunger rumble harder in his stomach, and he smiled. He glanced at Speirs again and saw a smile blooming in response, then turned to peel the wrapping off the burrito and took the first tentative bite. 

“Do you want to split this?” he asked when his manner caught up with him, but Speirs shook his head.

“No, I ate with some friends earlier, I’m good. I picked these up just for you.”

Something tender throbbed in Lipton’s chest at that. Some of it must have shown on his face, because Speirs smiled wider and relaxed against the backrest. 

Lipton digged into his dinner. There was a specific kind of comfort in eating, especially something hot and readily prepared and just for him. It was a perfect meal, something he might have ordered for himself, and the more he ate the more his appetite grew. He was mostly quiet as he ate and didn’t even mind Speirs watching him.

Once he had eaten, he crumbled the wrapper up and stuffed it with the napkins into the empty take-out bag. Warm contentment settled into his stomach with the food, and he wished he could let the situation play out as it naturally would. He wanted to open up and be reassured, but the restrictions of his profession demanded he dealt with certain things alone. 

“Don’t worry about things you can’t tell me. I only wanted to see you is all,” Speirs assured him as if he could guess everything just from Lipton’s sad eyes. He reached out to push his fingers through Lipton’s hair so gently it made his heart ache. “We can just spend the evening together, doing whatever. What were you doing before I came by?”

Lipton had been watching tv, so that’s what they carried on doing. Speirs didn’t have preferences, but still Lipton was silently thoughtful and didn’t pick anything involving military or war, and calm settled over them. The evening drifted by them, and feeling warm and comfortable Lipton stretched onto his side and put his head in Speirs’ lap, where he was easily welcomed.

Lipton relaxed in Speirs’ lap and nuzzled his cheek against his thigh, uncaring of the rough denim in his simple longing for the warmth underneath. “Thank you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to wait until the weekend. Seeing you makes me feel better already.” 

Speirs let out a fond sigh. “That’s good. That’s… yeah, that’s good. I’m glad to be here for you, however I can.” 

Lipton smiled. He focused on the screen again even though the plot had been lost to him for some time now. He was still thinking about the troubles at work.

“It’s just been so unsteady lately. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to find my feet,” he thought aloud. 

“Oh, I know what that feels like,” Speirs responded with a world-weary tone. “The feeling that nothing’s certain, you can trust nothing and no one, and everything keeps changing around you.”

It was worrying how well that fit, and Lipton frowned. “Yeah. But… How do you – ?”

Speirs sighed, self-councious. “Army life teaches many things, and leaves marks on you as well,” he simply said.

Lipton felt a tug deep in his chest. He wondered both if this was something Speirs needed help with, and if that was about to become his life now as well. 

In the thoughtful quiet, Speirs went on: “I’m sure you have wondered, but that’s why I’m so… Well, let’s say _careful_ with you. I don’t know what the future will bring, and I can’t promise you this or that because I don’t know if I can deliver. All I can really give you is now. This is what we have.”

It sounded sweet and Speirs’ tone was earnest, but the uncertainty of it made Lipton’s heart ache. He wanted the future, as far as they could make it, and he wanted to believe it was possible for it to last. Even more importantly, now that the very foundations of his life felt shaky, he wanted this one thing to be steady. 

“Do you think it’ll always feel like that?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Speirs said. “Do you believe people can change?”

That gave Lipton a pause, but eventually made him smile. He couldn’t see it or imagine it for himself, but rationally he knew it to be possible. He turned his gaze up at Speirs to share the warm confidence in the future. “I do believe that. I’ve seen it happen many times.”

Something strange happened on Speirs’ face, a twitch of emotion and a ghost of an expression that he suppressed before it had the chance to fully form, a combination that made Lipton wonder just what exactly his words had hit. Speirs’ hand was tender as it played with his hair.

“That’s sweet of you,” Speirs said, the sentiment uncharacteristic for him yet still undoubtedly sincere like everything about him was. 

Lipton felt soothed. In his eyes Speirs had already changed from what he may have been before. He might have hard time believing he was wanted and daring to make an effort to get and maintain a relationship, but for Lipton he had always pulled through. He was genuine and thoughtful, and something had clicked between them. Lipton curled closer to Speirs and hoped he would soon come to realize how good and deserving he was. 

It was a good evening, even when Speirs didn’t stay the night. They watched tv curled around each other on the couch, and by the time of the third episode made out like Lipton wished he had done in college. But eventually Speirs had noted the late hour, untangled himself from Lipton’s arms, picked up his stuff and left. Lipton missed him the moment he was gone and couldn’t even appreciate the fact that the visit had been purely out of caring and not for sex. 

When the next workday came, Lipton wished he had enjoyed the night to the fullest. 

He knew something was wrong the moment he came in, just like he had on Monday. It was in the eerie electric charge that lingered in the air, like something dangerous had slowly charged up in their midst and could now burn them at any moment.

Buck, Guarnere and Toye were all serious and slightly ashen when they met in the conference room for the morning briefing. 

Lipton was afraid to ask, but forced himself to press on. “What’s happened?”

Guarnere sucked his teeth and Buck sat quietly with his arms tightly crossed. Toye glanced at both of them as if expecting someone to pick up the ball, but when no one did, he turned to Lipton.

“We just got a report from the night surveillance team,” he said. “Bormann is in the wind.”


	17. An old friend for dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again, readers. This is a chapter I've really looked forward to sharing. I bring this update from my bunk.
> 
> As always, I really appreciate your kudos, and comments are what my inspiration lives from. I'd really like to hear from all of you what you think of my work.

Dick spent his Thursday afternoon in the kitchen, watching the savory pie slowly browning in the oven and listening to his husband ranting on the phone in the other room. Lewis had tossed and turned all night waking Dick every few hours, but still left for work early in the morning after three cups of espresso. When he had come home, he had looked even more harrowed than he had the day before or in the morning after a sleepless night, and almost two hours ago he had locked himself into their reading room that doubled as a home office to make some phone calls. Dick couldn’t quite make out the words, but Lewis’ tone was definitely tense and stressed out, and in the span of two hours his patience had been stretching thinner and thinner.

The dish in the oven wasn’t exactly fancy, but baking a shepherd’s pie had allowed him to knead a dough as well as cleave and tenderize meat which had improved his mood. For dessert he would be serving simple store-bought ice cream, but in the nougat flavor that was Lewis’ favorite. 

Dick couldn’t help but worry. Lewis was definitely stressed, more stressed than he could remember him ever being, and the amount of don’t-you-worry-about-it-darlings only underlined the gravity of the problem. 

He had tried asking, but Lewis wouldn’t tell him anything, and no wonder: telling would go against the arrangements of their marriage, and Dick knew exactly how much Lewis valued being able to give this peace to him. Only now it frustrated Dick: he knew Lewis was doing it all out of love, that his persistence with keeping the issue from him was only a testament to how much he cared, but Dick couldn’t just leave this be. Something was wrong. Something had seriously gone wrong at some point, and Dick couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. He wondered about all the things he didn’t know. He wondered about those police officers who had come to ask questions, and he wondered about the circumstances of Lewis’ detainment at the police station. No matter which angle Dick looked at the situation, it looked dire. 

The pie had come out of the oven and was cooling under a cloth when an exhausted-looking Lewis finally wandered into the kitchen and went straight to get himself a drink. Dick was chopping lettuce and gave a sideways glance at Lewis but didn’t comment. 

“Would you set the table?” Dick asked instead of commenting and nodded towards the plates, cutlery, serviettes and wine glasses he had already taken out on the kitchen isle. 

Lewis set his glass down. “Sure,” he agreed, but paused when he took a second look at the dishes. “There’re three plates,” he said.

“Yes. We’re having a friend of mine over. He should be here any time now,” Dick said. Lewis didn’t ask anything more even though he looked like he wanted to, just picked up the dishes and went to set the table. 

Dick was done with the salad and had just put all the food to the table when the doorbell rang. Lewis was sitting in his usual spot sipping his second glass of dinner wine, tapping his fingers against the table and didn’t make a gesture to indicate he would get up, so Dick went to answer the door. He didn’t mind, it was his friend after all. 

Dick opened the door. Sweet nostalgia overflowed in his heart and made him smile when he greeted Ron Speirs. “Hello there,” he said, “come on in. Dinner is already at the table.” 

Ron nodded his greetings and came in. He had casual jeans and his weathered leather jacket on and a black backpack over one shoulder. He wiped his shoes on the doormat before toeing them off. “It’s good to see you, Dick,” he said. 

“Likewise. Follow me, please.” 

Dick led Ron to the dining table where Lewis was waiting for them. The moment Lewis laid eyes on Ron he got an exasperated look on his face and groaned: “Oh, it’s you.”

Dick paid him no mind and just guided Ron to his seat. 

“It sure is me,” Ron said as he sat down. “Were you hoping I’d be gone already?”

“You certainly should be, right?” Lewis countered. 

“Maybe so,” Ron admitted, as unshakable as ever. He took a serviette from his plate, spread it on his lap and eyed the pie at the table. “That looks good.” 

Dick took his seat on the other side of the table next to Lewis who sat at the head and smiled, pleased. “Thanks. Feel free to dig in. How is the life in Chicago treating you?” 

They had dinner together heeded by relatively easy conversation. Ron and Dick had easy camaraderie between them, and they did most of the talking. Ron talked about Chicago and his job at the police station and the people he had met there, then went on a tangent about other old acquaintances he had been working with lately, and Dick relayed about his everyday life as a married man and a homemaker. He talked about his domestic life, his dogs and hobbies and travel plans, told a few tales about his closest friends, and kindly bragged about Lewis between the lines. 

Lewis himself didn’t talk much, just made a few comments while he ate several servings of the pie and the salad and had three glasses of wine while at it. Dick poured the third one for him and then set the bottle out of his reach. Dick could sense Lewis’ mild discomfort during the meal and steadied him by pushing his leg against his the entire time, sometimes bumping him with his foot. 

After dinner Dick made them coffee and served it with ice cream. He didn’t miss Lewis’ fleeting smile when he got a bowl of nougat ice cream with frozen berries and chocolate sauce in front of him. Ron in turn seemed to take the dessert as a sign to discuss business, took his backpack from under the table and unzipped it.

“I brought what we discussed,” he announced after taking a single sip of his coffee with his hand in the bag. He pulled out a fairly thick black file and threw it on the table in from of Lewis, who wore a carefully neutral look as he picked it up. 

Ron continued to talk: “I have done everything we agreed upon. In that file I have cataloged everything I have found out, including the details of the case concerning you and everything that I have found out the police knows. I have included a complete timeline of their theories, their evidence, and the names and personal information of the detectives closely involved with the investigation. In conclusion, you have nothing to worry about as long as everyone stays put and nobody talks.” 

Lewis flipped the file open and browsed through the documents, but in a way that was more for show than anything else. “Yeah, alright,” he said after a while, “you’ve done good work and what I paid you for.” He closed the file and tossed in back on the table, then leaned forward towards Ron with a stormy look in his dark eyes. “Now might we talk about how I never paid you for killing anyone?”

Dick sipped his coffee.

Ron stared Lewis down, undisturbed. “I am a freelancer. I work for the highest bidder, and just because you paid me for a job doesn’t mean I won’t accept other ones while at it. That’s what happened.” 

Lewis wrinkled his nose. “And what about the fact that the job you accepted complicates my life further? What about the fact that there are papers in this very file about the Chicago police investigating three murders that you committed yourself?! What about the fact that you have deliberately sabotaged the case I paid you good money to observe and leave alone?!” 

Ron just shrugged. “You paid me for information. I delivered information. If you mistook me taking a job from you as loyalty, that’s your problem. I am not your employee, Mr. Nixon. I do not care what happens to you. I just work and get paid. That is all. If you are unhappy with that, then that is your problem.”

For a long moment Lewis held stern eye contact with Ron, who coolly looked back. Dick sipped his coffee, his gaze turning from one to another and back again. Finally, Lewis groaned with frustration and relaxed back on his seat, then picked up his bowl of ice cream. “Fucking hitmen, I swear…” he cursed and took a large spoonful of his dessert. 

Ron relaxed too now that the tension had broken and turned to his dessert as well. “I’m not going to argue that. We’re not exactly a loyal field of workers. Where the money is, we’ll go, and that’s that,” he said, shrugged and took a bite of ice cream. 

For a moment the only sound at the table was silver spoons sounding against glass bowls.

“Who is the idiot who hired you anyway?” Lewis asked suddenly.

Ron grinned with an edge of irony. “Bormann.” 

Lewis slapped his hand against his brow. “That goddamn idiot!” 

“Not everyone has the nerves, Mr. Nixon,” Ron chuckled.

“Clearly,” Lewis admitted icily. 

Dick drank his coffee and then turned to his suitably softened bowl of ice cream. Chocolate was his favorite, but sharing something that Lewis loved was a special kind of treat in itself. He stroked a comforting foot along Lewis’ leg under the table as they ate. 

The dessert was still going but Lewis just couldn’t keep himself from taking a closer look at the file Ron had delivered. At first he was just thumbing the first page and pretending he wasn’t really reading it, but minute by minute he was eating less and reading more. Dick hid his growing anxiety about it and didn’t comment on it either. Then Lewis’ phone rang in his pocket and he jumped up like on a cue and excused himself from the table and disappeared into the office, the file under his arm.

Dick watched him go for a second and swallowed a worried sigh. He turned to Ron instead, who was looking at him and turning his spoon in the empty ice cream bowl. It had been years since Dick had seen Ron, but something simply clicked between them and there was no estrangement, no awkwardness and no new boundaries. 

It was easy to just smile at Ron and chat with him. “So you’ve found work after the army,” Dick mused when the two of them sat alone at the table. 

Ron just shrugged. “Yeah, kind of. If you’re good at something, you ought to do that and send a bill too, I suppose.” 

“I bet you get to travel a lot.” 

“That’s correct. I’ve been to all the continents and seen dozens of cities around the world,” Ron said, somehow managing to sound bored. “I’ve heard you’re into gardening these days,” he said out of the blue. “Care to show me?” 

Dick showed Ron to the balcony. The night had fallen but it wasn’t ever truly dark in the heart of such a large city, but in Dick’s garden there were electric lanterns giving soft yellow light that seemed to belong into a garden somewhere deep in the countryside. There wasn’t much to show in the garden this time of the year, just his many pots and vegetable beds and arches heavy with barren rose vines and dead ivy, but Ron took a good look around in any case. 

“This is like a botanical garden you’ve got here,” he said. “Comfortable?” 

“I like making things grow,” Dick answered. 

“You certainly do.”

They walked along the balcony, Dick introduced his plants that were now dormant, and they ended up leaning on the heavy stone railing and looking out on the city scape side by side. The wind was cold but neither one cared. 

“You seem to be doing well here,” Ron noted after a moment of silence. 

Dick smiled. “I am doing well. I’m happy with Lew.” 

“That’s good. Good. Things weren’t so great after the army. Or while in the army, as I recall,” Ron said.

Dick’s smile tightened at the unpleasant memories. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. I went under for a long while there. Sorry about that.” 

Ron shook his head. “No, no, it’s your business and I’m not one to judge. I really can’t afford that kind of moralizing, given my own career of choice. It’s just good to see you, and I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Ron.” 

They were silent for a long while again, just watching the dark night sky and the city lights that blackened the stars in it. They were so high that the noise of traffic sounded distant, and the wind blew hard. 

“I need you to know one thing,” Ron said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Nixon really did pay me for only information. Those hits are not on him.”

Dick was quiet and turned to regard Ron. “Why are you telling me that?” 

Ron didn’t turn to him, choosing to keep his green eyes to the horizon instead like he always did when he really meant what he said. “You’ve got a good thing here, and I don’t want to see it ruined. You made it out and you’re happy. I always considered you a friend, and I’d like to see your happiness continued.” 

Dick was honestly touched. He thought of Ron as a friend as well, but these feelings weren’t exactly given since they had enjoyed that natural bonding of soldiers in combat together and then after discharge they hadn’t actually met once. “Thank you. I appreciate that,” he said. He pondered the evening’s events, then glanced behind him through the windows to see if Lewis was still in the office. “I never doubted Lew, you know. He’s not that kind of a person. He’s good,” he said.

Ron accepted his stance without a question. “You were always so loyal. I don’t doubt that you carry that devotion to your marriage.” 

“Lew deserves nothing less,” Dick continued. He rubbed his hands together while leaning over the railing and looked up to the black sky. “I’ve never met anyone like him, Ron. He sees me for who I really am and loves me anyway. I let him see everything about me and he didn’t bat an eye, just loved me more the better he knew me. I can’t even imagine life without him.”

Ron eyed him silently and Dick looked back. An understanding passed between them, the full gravity of the situation in one look, and Ron looked away first. 

“I’m not going to lead the police back to Nixon. I have my integrity no matter the career,” Ron said.

Dick nodded. “I didn’t think you would, but that’s good to hear.”

Ron looked at him again, this time with his head curiously tilted. “You are strangely calm about all of this despite claiming you don’t know what your husband does for work.” 

Dick just shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve killed. I’ve looked people in the face through my scope and taken their lives in order to pay for my college and bills. I have no moral high ground over you. You got to live, and you’ve always been my friend in any case.” 

“Huh.” Ron seemed pleasantly surprised in an underwhelmed way, like he had been expecting something completely different and what he got was plain in comparison.

Something about it made Dick focus his thoughts on Ron and what he was doing. Something wasn’t adding up it, and he had to ask. “Speaking of which, what are you still doing here? Isn’t it dangerous for you to stay in one place this long?”

Ron was ominously quiet. “I met someone.”

Dick hadn’t expected that, but it wasn’t the surprise that made him grimace. “Oh, no.”

“Uh-huh. A mark, too.” 

“Who?” 

Ron’s face twitched in something that could have been read as regret. “That detective who’s on the team investigating the murders I committed. He’s in that file I gave Nixon. Lipton, Carwood is his name.”

Dick sucked air in through his teeth like a person who had burned their finger. “Ron… that’s…” But in the end Dick couldn’t find the words for what Ron’s situation actually was. 

“A timebomb?” Ron suggested helpfully himself.

“That would be an accurate metaphor, yes,” Dick admitted.

For the first time Ron shifted his feet and looked like he was uncomfortable, and not because of the winter weather. He combed his fingers through his hair. “I know. Trust me, I know. This is a major fuck up in my operation.”

There was no denying it and Ron wasn’t the type who liked empty reassurings, so Dick nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“And it will most likely get me killed, or at least arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to multiple life sentences,” Ron went on without even acknowledging Dick’s comment.

“At least Illinois doesn’t have the death penalty.” 

“Hah, right.” 

Despite the subject he atmosphere was strangely tender and wistful. Dick wondered if it was just him since he had been talking about Lewis, but when glancing at Ron he saw a longing, faraway stare in his eyes too.

“Why are you doing this?” Dick asked, genuinely curious. “You’re too smart to make a rookie mistake like that by accident, and you’ve never before had trouble taking the most practical route no matter the cost. So why now?” 

Ron grimaced again and leaned heavily on the railing. He turned his face towards the cold wind. “I guess I’m just tired.”

Dick looked at him for a long time, then turned to glance around his garden and the warm home behind the windows, his secure little nest he had been building for the past seven years. “Yeah, I get that.” He didn’t ask anything more about Ron’s relationship or the man he was involved with as Ron seemed to be perfectly aware of the insanity of it all. With a guilty prickle Dick thought warmly about Lewis and how lucky he was to have a man like him. He didn’t blame or judge Ron for taking shelter in his illusion, but here Dick was, incredibly lucky with his perfect match who was nothing like he had ever imagined. 

Ron didn’t stay long as he shouldn’t have been there in the first place and still had places he wanted to be before he’d have to prepare for work the next morning. He slinked out discreetly and Dick didn’t doubt that he couldn’t be spotted or at least identified in any security camera footage or linked to the location. He thought back to their army days and all the things they had learned and marveled at how little he missed it. 

Dick was cleaning up the table when Lewis finally emerged from the office and came to help him. They piled up dirty dishes and cutlery, wine glasses and serviettes and hauled it all to the kitchen. They didn’t speak when they covered the leftovers in foil and put them in the fridge and loaded the dishwasher, just moved around each other with familiar ease. The wine glasses were fine crystal and had to be washed by hand, and Lewis picked the drying duty as Dick ran warm water into the sink and dosed dish soap. 

Lewis stood by his side as Dick took a sponge and washed the first glass, then handed it to Lewis and submerged the second glass in the foamy water.

“Would you like to go away for a while?” Lewis suddenly blurted out. 

Dick turned to him and raised his brows. “Go away?”

Lewis twisted the wine glass in his hand, the towel stuffed inside it. “Yeah. Like travel to the country. You love venturing to the rural areas! You could go wherever you wanted, see the Yellowstone or cross the midwestern desert or go hike in Alaska and spot grizzly bears. Or if you wanted to travel around Europe again, I’d arrange that too. Whatever you want!” 

He sounded short of breath as he listed his ideas, bordering on manic, and Dick measured him with a sharp glance. He passed him the second, now cleaned wine glass.

“You keep saying ‘you’. You mean we wouldn’t be going together?” he finally said.

Lewis visibly gulped and dropped his glance. He turned the glass anxiously in his hands. “It might do you some good, you know, to be away for a while.” 

“I don’t want to go away. Why would I?” Dick calmly stated while washing the third glass, gently scrubbing it with the soft side of the sponge. 

“It’s just… I’ve been trying to sort this mess out, but it seems to just be getting worse. And my dad, uh, he isn’t exactly that helpful. Actually, I don’t even think he wants to be helpful, I bet he wants to see me fail just so he can scoff at me and tell me how stupid I am – “ 

Lewis’ voice grew frantic and thin until it broke, and he let out a frustrated puff of air. He wiped the glass in his hands harder and harder as he spat out words until there was a melodic snapping sound as the crystal shattered in his hold. “Shit.” 

Dick turned to him in a flash. The wine glass had broken into three or four pieces, the leg snapped off from the cup and the delicate glass bowl broken into several large shards that Lewis was now holding wrapped in a damp, wrinkled dish towel in his hands and staring down at. Dick pulled the plug from the sink and then reached over to Lewis, gently taking his hands. “Shh, it’s okay. Just be careful,” he said and then carefully contained the sharp shards of the glass into the towel before prying the bundle from his hold. 

When he turned to sort the remains into the trash, Lewis pulled out one of the chairs by the kitchen bar, sat heavily on it and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

Dick cast the glass and the rest of the clean-up from his mind and went to his husband. He approached Lewis slowly, paying special mind to his energy and debating would it be best to leave him be or go to his side. It was difficult to tell with Lewis, who sometimes practically begged for an embrace but pushed him away the second he actually got it, but Dick had honed his instincts for years and so carefully eased himself closer, first by Lewis’ side and then subtly in front of him, where he could easily coax Lewis to allow him to wrap his arms around him.

“Lew, to hell with your father,” Dick said quietly, “He doesn’t know you, not really. You are wonderful and smart and capable, and you will figure this out.”

Lewis sighed and in a burst of affection pulled Dick closer. He buried his face in his chest and inhaled the scent of his shirt before propping his chin against it and looked up to Dick with pleading brown eyes. “We could go away for a while. I know you prefer the country to the city anyway, you could maybe travel some and go back to Pennsylvania. I could arrange and pay for it all, whatever you want –” 

Dick interrupted him with a finger to his lips, and Lewis fell silent. Dick searched his face for a moment, eyes flicking and his mouth firm. “Lew, you do know that I don’t really care about any of this, right? I love our life here because it’s our life, my life with you. Anything else is just noise. As long as we’re together and you are okay, I’m happy. I don’t care about anything you might have done, and I wouldn’t care if we suddenly lost this all. I just want you to be okay.” 

Lewis deflated before Dick’s raw honesty. He dropped his begging gaze, rested his cheek against Dick’s chest and hugged him tighter. “Are you sure I can’t take you away?” 

Dick just hummed. “The only place I want you to take me is to bed.”


	18. A snake in the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, look at what I managed to scrap together! Say hello to Speirs and his "friends", everyone.
> 
> I want to say how happy and grateful all the comments and kudos on the previous chapters have made me. Thank you! It's always a joy to hear what you readers think of this story. I don't have much time in my hands at the moment, but coming back to this story is so much fun.

When his shift on Thursday afternoon came to an end, Speirs hurried out of the police station. He took his usual route to the apartment he had rented for his stay in Chicago, took a shower, changed into casual ones, took his readily packed backpack and was out of the door again in twenty minutes.

Speirs walked a few blocks down the street, then at a tactical corner during a crossing he pressed a cap over his head. It was a simple disguise that worked only as long as he didn’t look up, but it was also more subtle than wearing a hood that tended to draw gazes. He took a train downtown, rode the line until its end, changed the train and rode east. 

He got off the train and started walking through a route he had planned beforehand and thus knew was safe. He kept up a good marching pace and crossed several miles in no time, safely hidden in the crowd and traffic of the city.

He had timed his trip so that when he was nearing the meeting place, it was getting dark. Cold winter evening was rolling about, the streetlights slowly flicking on, and Speirs relaxed slightly as darkness fell. With it he was naturally hidden and he enjoyed the freedom that came with it, but he didn’t let that distract him from his objective. 

He walked through a neighborhood and stopped by a three-story building that had been vacant for a while. It was dark and plain among the restaurants, stores and clubs that lined the streets on the block, and Speirs waited patiently in a dark spot where streetlights didn’t reach. 

He didn’t have to wait long before a black van drove by, slowed down and stopped by the sidewalk. Speirs walked up to the side door and stared at the tinted window for a moment, and when he was sure the people inside had recognized him, he opened the door and climbed inside. 

“Evening, gentlemen,” Speirs greeted the two familiar men in the car.

“Yeah, sure,” Liebgott acknowledged from behind the wheel, already shifting the gear in and steering the van back on the streets with his eyes bouncing from the window to the mirrors. He was also wearing a cap on his head and had his jacket’s collars turned up, indicating his clear unease about the meeting.

“Long time, no see,” Grant added next to him on the middle seat and nodded, clearly more relaxed in his casual winter coat without a hood or a hat.

“Yes,” Speirs agreed, extending his hand to Grant, who after a moment of hesitation took it and gave it a shake. “You’re looking well.”

Grant’s smile turned slightly lopsided, almost resembling a grimace. “Yeah. I got better,” he said with half a shrug. “Thanks,” he added vaguely.

Speirs nodded and evaluated the man on the seat next to him. He didn’t often get to see people more than once, or alternatively at least not after the job was done, but there were exceptions. He had concluded that it was nice, from time to time. 

Liebgott leaned forward to glance past Grant, his narrowed eyes looking Ron up and down with an openly suspicious glare. “So this is the guy, huh?” he asked when he turned back to the road. 

Grant nodded again. “Yep, this is him. You’ve spoken before,” he reminded them both, acting as an awkward middle-man in an already awkward situation. 

“Yeah, but never seen him,” Liebgott answered bluntly, his reserved manner unwavering.

Ron looked back, undisturbed. “Indeed. How are your wife and kids?” 

A muscle twitched in Liebgott’s face, baring his teeth for a second. They stopped in traffic-lights, the bright red of them painting over the inside of the car. Liebgott leaned on the steering wheel and stared at Ron hard for little too long for it to be natural. “Fine,” he said finally, the reply pulled from him like an aching tooth. He finally broke eye contact with Ron when the light turned green and they drove through an intersection. “Is this really a buddy of yours, huh?” he asked Grant, blatantly ignoring Speirs.

Grant didn’t seem to have an answer ready even though for Speirs the situation was simple. He watched the two others keenly and curiously noted how Grant clearly wanted to reassure his friend, but the question way Liebgott had formed the question asked specifically if they were friendly. Speirs supposed the answer to that was no, but stating that plainly would have been rude, and besides, the true question that had been asked was really “is this safe?”. Speirs found it fascinating to watch as Grant tried to find a tactful way out of the pinch. 

“Not really, but it’s cool. We go way back,” Grant finally said, prompting a smile from Speirs and a huff from Liebgott. “Anyway… We got business to attend to!”

“Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t come here for the pleasure of your company,” Liebgott said as if he hadn’t been the one to start with the questions.

“You’re far away from San Francisco,” Speirs noted of them both. “You wouldn’t have driven all this way here just for me. You were already around.” 

Grant hesitated, so Liebgott answered for him: “That’s right.”

Speirs raised a brow at him. “You’re not working for these guys, are you?”

Liebgott clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he grunted, then continued more neutrally: “But we got to keep an eye on newcomers. I don’t like it when they’re weaseling their way into the housing market.” He glanced out of the window just as they were passing a street lined with brightly lit restaurants and clubs, most of them starting to buzz with business as their busiest hours rolled by.

“So you’re all the way here from San Francisco to see what kind of properties they are interested in?” Speirs asked.

Grant shrugged. “Well, sure. It’s a big country, but you know all the big moves are done in banks, and it doesn’t matter where you’re dwelling if you’re dealing with that. Money is everywhere, and so forth.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Speirs sighed, already losing interest in the topic. “That’s none of my business, I don’t deal with anything that uncertain or vague.”

There was a chill in the air suddenly, and the space in the car felt narrower. It was only for a few seconds, but that was enough to count as an awkward silence, something Speirs noted of but didn’t really care.

The moment passed. Liebgott clicked his tongue again. “We know what you deal with. You’re a gun.”

“We’re in the same line of work,” Speirs reminded him.

“I just drive,” Liebgott countered drily.

“Speaking of which,” Grant cut in, wheeling the conversation back on track and on safer ground, “what did you need? If you want a driver, we got to talk about money. I won’t do it for scraps this time, it’s way too risky.” 

Speirs shook his head and started to dig through the inside pockets of his jacket. “No, it’s not like that this time. You’re right about the risky though.” He pulled out a map and a printed out rental receipt, then started to fold open the map over his knee in order to find where he had drawn out his plan with a marker. 

“Risky goes without saying,” Grant said with a dry laugh while curiously peering at the map. “The less I got to do with it the more I like it.”

“Figures,” Speirs said. “Here.” He had found the right spot and handed the map to Grant, who took it and leaned closer to inspect it in the limited light inside the car.

“I’ve got a good thing going on here and it’s all under control, but only for now,” Speirs started to explain. “I’ve overextended my stay by a lot at this point, as well as overcharged my employer. They are not the ones I worry about though, but the police. I’m way too close, and for now it looks like I might need to make a quick exit sometime soon.” 

“The police getting close to you sure is new,” Grant commented. “Must be a damn good job if it’s making you stay this long. Hope the money is worth the risk.”

Speirs ignored the comment and kept to the point. “I’ve got it all planned out and I’m ready to retreat at any time. Like I said, I don’t need a driver. I just need a car.” He tapped at the map. “I’ve marked the rendezvous point here. That’s all you got to know. You don’t need to meet me there, just get me a car. It needs to be discreet and registered with a full tank of gas, no other supplies. I’ll pay in advance.” 

Grant looked the map over for a moment longer, then took his phone out and wrote down some notes. Liebgott was silent while he worked and made no comments of the situation, his gaze focused on the road but stealing glances at the two others while checking the rearview mirror.

When he was done, Grant folded the map again and handed it back to Speirs, who stuffed it back in his pocket. “It’s not as risky without the diving part, but just the car isn’t going to be cheap either,” Grant said, crossing his arms.

Speirs shrugged. “I know. I’ll pay whatever, just make sure the plates are legit. I don’t want to find out I’m driving a stolen vehicle while trying to keep a low profile.”

“When do you want it?”

“As soon as possible.”

Now it was Grant who narrowed his eyes at Speirs and that lopsided smile was back on his face again, this time more mischievous than awkward. “You’re in a pinch, aren’t you?” 

Speirs didn’t let anything be seen on his face, but there was no denying that Grant had hit the nail on its head, and however neutral his silence was, they would draw their own conclusions of it. He didn’t make a comment, not even when Liebgott gained something of a smirk on his face, just stuck to the point.

“Can you get the car for me?”

Grant grilled him with his silent stare a few seconds longer, but then let it go with a chuckle. “Yeah, I can. It’s work for two though,” he said, gesturing to himself and Liebgott. 

Speirs gave them both a cold look. “I won’t pay double.”

“You just said you’d pay whatever,” Liebgott pointed out, his smirk growing. “Besides, can you really afford to haggle here?” 

Speirs kept his unblinking stare on the driver and let the silence stretch on. He had the money to meet whatever ridiculous demand would be thrown at him, plus he knew very well it wasn’t tactically sound to yank your allies around too much when you were planning your escape route, but there was still the matter of keeping face. “You’d be surprised by what we guns can afford,” he said in a quiet, smooth voice, letting layers and layers of implications seep into the sentence. 

The smirk on Liebgott’s face dimmed slightly and something sour blended into it. He looked like he wanted to shoot back but wasn’t sure exactly how seriously his comments would be taken and so was forced to consider his reply longer. Speirs half wished he would make some sort of a remark to air some of his obvious anger, unless risk all of it ending up into the sum total of the job he was paying him and Grant to do for him.

“Ugh, just drop it, Lieb,” Grant said, cutting in again to release tension. “This is a reliable guy here, he’ll come through for us and won’t double cross us. Plus, it must be a really sweet gig here, huh? You wouldn’t play it this close if it wasn’t really worth it.” 

Like always, money was what everyone assumed it was all about, and Speirs wasn’t sentimental or stupid enough to argue with that. Even though both assumptions made, about the money and the safety of the job, were wrong and Speirs was against bad odds, he let it be. It was all information that was meant only for him, and even if he were directly asked, he wouldn’t speak a word of why he was really still around. 

In the end they agreed on a sum of money that was definitely too high for such a simple request, but still within reasonable parameters for Speirs, who in any case had just bought something immeasurable: a safe exit. Grant had come through for him before and he was a smart guy who would do his job properly. He hadn’t ridden himself of his honesty either, and Speirs had a feeling that for the outrageous price Grant and Liebgott had negotiated for themselves he would get the car where he wanted it sooner than he had requested. He couldn’t complain, after all he didn’t know exactly when he’d have to make a run for it. 

They left him at the same spot they had picked him up from, and Ron watched the van drive down the street, take the turn at the intersection down the road and disappear from sight. 

All in all, it had been a very easy business meeting, considering the industry standard. He was almost amused. The night was still young too, and glancing at his watch he concluded he’d make it to Dick and his husband’s place for their dinner easily. He would take care of his business there and leave as early as possible.

He counted the hours and tried to consider what was still socially acceptable. If he was quick enough, he might be free early enough that it would still be on the territory of a pleasant surprise to drop by to see Lipton. 

His heart gave a heavy throb at the thought, the first time Speirs allowed Lipton to drift into his thoughts that evening. It was worrisome how much he had thought of the man lately and how much it distracted him; already he was lingering here in Chicago when he should have booked a one-way ticket to somewhere like Bangkok months ago, and if he wasn’t careful, he would plan all his comings and goings to suit Lipton. 

But there was no helping that, and if Speirs was honest to himself, he didn’t even want to. It had been a long time since he had felt anything like this, and the more he allowed himself to indulge in their make-believe relationship, the more that long since buried part of himself was coming back to life. Over the course of several days it had taken him multiple runs, endurance training, and sessions of tactical breathing to get his mind to the state where he could recognize and name the things he was feeling, and he hadn’t liked the answers. The feelings hadn’t been entirely new, simply forgotten, but now they had been defrosted and awoken like hibernating snakes during spring, slithering out of their little caves. 

He liked Lipton. He missed him. He cared about him. He wanted him. He felt affectionate towards him. He slept soundly next to him and felt an aching need to just hold him whenever it was just the two of them. He liked the scent of his apartment. In many ways Lipton made Speirs feel like a feral cat that was brought indoors for the first time in years, and it was truly troublesome how quickly he had gotten used to being petted and cuddled in bed. 

It was really getting in the way of his work. Speirs knew what he had to do, but this newly awakened side of him was more demanding than he had anticipated, making him prolong the time he spent basking in the warmth. 

He knew what he would have to do eventually. He knew and he would deal with it when the time came, that’s what he told himself when he tilted his head back to look up to the dark winter sky and sighed towards the stars he couldn’t see from the lights of the city. He knew, but tonight he would make sure he made it to see Lipton and be someone good and gentle for him. 

All that would have to happen later could be pushed aside. Right now was all that mattered anyway.


	19. The noose tightens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been some time! Time really flies when you're on duty for a month in a row without leave or days off. Words can't express how happy I am to finally bring you an update! I'm so excited about this story, and I got to thank everyone who's sent me prompts on Tumblr and helped me keep my writing routine up.
> 
> This chapter is about Nix. I bet at least certain someones of you missed him. ;)   
Leave kudos and comment to keep my spirits up, the usual. Please enjoy. <3

Lewis was running late to a meeting he wanted to attend even less that his usual ones. Personally he was of the opinion that this was a bad idea, but no one had asked him. He never met his customers in person nor did he accept money in cash unless it was through a legitimate business, but the situation had progressed to the point where none of his usual rules applied and all he could do was damage control. 

He used one of his own cars instead of a taxi for once, though he had no idea which was actually harder to trace. He slipped away from work and defied the midday traffic, heading to the East side. Bormann had sent someone of course, Lewis didn’t expect anything different, but he wondered who had picked a carpark building as a meeting place.

Three men were already waiting for him when Lewis parked his car in the middle of the lane and got out. They had apparently come in two separate cars as the level was otherwise empty save for two black Volkswagens with tinted windows.

“Where’s the money?” the first man Lewis recognized as the intruder of his home asked as soon as he slammed the car door shut. A little intel had given the man a name at least, but little else and nothing helpful.

“Still in the system,” Lewis answered for the umpteenth time.

“Still in the system,” Hess repeated with silky smooth mockery. “We want it back. In how many ways do we have to repeat this same request?”

Lewis kept his cool and put his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. In how many ways do I have to tell you that I can’t do that as long as the police is watching me? Your money is in digital numbers and under the noses of Chicago PD. Be grateful they haven’t involved Interpol just yet.”

Talking sense was rarely any use when money was involved, but Lewis had to try. He squeezed his hands into fists in the pockets.

“Then we want our money back in cash,” Hess countered.

Lewis suppressed a snort but couldn’t keep from huffing. “You want that amount of money in cash? You’d need several good-sized suitcases, and the money would still be dirty! Seriously, doesn’t a European mob have savings for the rainy day or what’s with the hurry?”

“You shouldn’t be the one talking about what we can or cannot afford to lose with so much of it yourself. How could we encourage you to take us seriously?” Hess continued, sounding almost bored. He seemed to be doing all the talking while his two buddies in boring suits and crewcuts stood slightly back. The muscle, Lewis recognized and wanted to laugh; what did they think he was going to do?

Hess kept his voice calm and cold, but there was a tension running beneath the surface. “Perhaps we should push you in the right direction a bit? Maybe a collar in the main? Maybe with the head of a priced poodle still with it?”

Lewis couldn’t keep his face from scrunching in distaste, nor could he stop a cold shiver from slinking across his spine when he thought of Dick walking their dogs every morning by himself. He definitely didn’t want these people crossing paths with him.

“How about you worry about the police and not me?” Lewis argued impatiently. “Technically we’re on the same side. It’s the cops who are out to get the both of us.”

“We already have a gun assigned to the lead detective. As soon as an opportunity presents itself, detective Lipton will make a hasty retirement,” Hess noted dismissively.

Lewis frowned with frustration. “Well, sounds like you got it under control then. What do you need me here for?”

Hess smacked his lips and smiled with his head titled. Lewis didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “That’s just it, Mr. Nixon. We don’t. We don’t need you, and if we can’t get out money, we’ll make damn sure no one else is going to need you either, ever again.”

Lewis huffed a dry chuckle at the threat but made a serious mental note about it. He didn’t have a response prepared, so all he could do was to face the cold stare of the German and outlast the tense silence. 

The meeting dissolved itself as the men turned without another word and got back into their cars. When they drove away, Lewis stood still for another minute until he couldn’t hear the sounds of tires anymore, then got back to his own car. 

He couldn’t call it a day just yet, not when things hadn’t progressed in any direction. He took the car and headed towards the highway. He enjoyed the speed and the freedom of the open road, and for a minute let himself believe that this would be his escape. He was dropping everything and leaving it all behind forever. He cracked the window open slightly and lit a cigarette. 

He knew very well he couldn’t leave. He had put down roots, and he wasn’t enough of a fool to believe that Bormann would just let him go and leave his husband alone. No, Lewis would have to pull both of them out of this and save their place in the sun.

There were times when Lewis’ head was buzzing with so many thoughts that he couldn’t make any of them out. Lesser men might have called that being confused or panicked, but Lewis insisted to himself that he simply had too many courses of action to choose from. He smoked his cigarette, cruised a lane and drove up a ramp, heading back to the city. He was a resourceful survivor, and he would not be cornered.

Still, when he tapped in the security code and drove through the gates of his father’s estate, Lewis bit his teeth together and told himself he couldn’t let his pride affect which of his resources he utilized. 

When he stopped his car in front of the steps of the veranda, he turned the engine off and just sat for a minute. He had to regroup, his rational side told him. He couldn’t just barge in without a plan or without any reserve, that sort of behavior was exactly what put him in the defensive position with his father. He squeezed the steering wheel and stared at his hands, the hands of a thirty-year-old grown man, not a helpless little boy. 

He was an adult. A married adult, which brought his thoughts to Dick. Lewis allowed himself a few seconds more to not look at the house but thought of his promise, of the home he had made for Dick and that he relied on him to provide it in the future too. 

With that thought bright in his mind, he stepped out of the car and started up the stairs of the mansion.

As soon as Lewis stepped into the grand hall of the house, he almost ran into a woman who was heading out. Lewis was taken aback when he dodged the near collision. He was about to apologize, but then he recognized the woman and the words withered on his tongue.

“’Scuse-me, I was just going,” the blonde said and looked like it too. Her conservative dress that seemed too old-fashioned for her and gave her insecurities about looking professional away in an instant was wrinkled, she had a fur-lined winter coat on one arm wghile her other hand was trying to fit her sturdy heels back on while she walked. 

“Yeah, you’d better,” came out of Lewis mouth as he blankly stared at her.

She gave him a look that was a mix of frustration and boredom and continued on her way towards the door. 

“I’ll give you a call sometime next week,” called out a different voice from the wide stairs to the second floor, and reluctantly Lewis turned to see his father coming down in slacks and a jersey looking far too casual. 

“Sure,” the blonde said with a quick smile, waved, and closed the door behind her.

Lewis stared at the closed door for a second before turning back towards his father. “You sure you don’t want to give her a ride back to her college or something?”

“Don’t be rude, Lewis,” Stanhope noted coldly. “Come along and state your business instead of spinning around in my hall and insulting Dana.”

Lewis cursed under his breath and followed his father out of the entrance hall. His shoes were leaving melting snow and mud on the rugs, but he didn’t care, and Stanhope ignored his petulance as usual.

Lewis followed his father through the house, through a living-room and a study to another, smaller sitting room that had plush furniture, a bar and a fireplace. He knew for a fact that this was a place where Stanhope received his most valued allies and clienteles, but still Lewis didn’t like being confined in the business parts of the house. But since business was what he had come here for, he forced the cold feeling down and took a seat like he would at any office. 

Stanhope didn’t hurry but made himself a drink, then walked to the sitting area and relaxed into one of the sinking soft armchairs.

“I need help,” Lewis said immediately, cutting through all chit-chat there might have been. Straight to the business, that was the best.

“Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” Stanhope answered and took a sip from his gin and tonic.

Lewis rolled his eyes but forced himself to not take the bait. He had a plan and ways to go about it, and he would stick to it even with the most unwilling of all business partners. “Will you just listen, dammit?! I know what I’m doing and I know how to solve this. All I need from you is just some cash.”

“Cash?” Stanhope asked, frowning over his glass. 

“Yeah,” Lewis said with a nod, “ I need about five hundred thousand, but even with about half of it I believe I could convince them to give me more time. They just need to see some money right now, even just a trickle, and that’ll settle them down long enough for me to work out the rest.”

Stanhope just stared at him with his brows raised and didn’t say anything. There was a stillness to him that Lewis rarely saw, something that told him that he had caught the old man off guard for once.

“Just a bit of cash?” Stanhope finally said. “That’s what your plan depends on? Some cash?”

“Well, yeah,” Lewis said with a shrug and geared up to argue his points. This was his area, he was confident here, and if there was something he knew Stanhope knew too but wouldn’t admit to was that Lewis had a knack for economics. “The money exists, it’s just a question of the form it takes. When you get me the cash, I’ll just wire the sum back to you when I can use my accounts freely again.”

“When I get you the cash, you say,” Stanhope said, very calmly.

A chill creeped along Lewis’ spine. He frowned. “Yeah.”

Stanhope stared at him for a second longer. Then he burst out into laughter.

Now it was Lewis’ turn to stare. His father laughed for a long while, a deep, rumbling belly-deep laugh, and spilled some of his drink on his slacks and didn’t even notice. Lewis couldn’t remember an instant when he had seen Stanhope laugh that hard. It worried him.

“No,” Stanhope finally managed from the midst of his laughter.

Lewis was sure he had misunderstood and for a moment he sputtered. “What?”

“I said no! You won’t get a nickel of cash out of me, boy!” Stanhope said, then continued to laugh.

Lewis furrowed his brows, opened his mouth and had to find his tongue again. “Bu… But we need it! It’s just a deposit to get Bormann off my back until the police ease off!”

“Oh, and who doesn’t have cash at hand, huh?” Stanhope threw back, his voice rough from laughter and thick with some deep satisfaction that Lewis knew anticipated a lecture, and no matter how much he fought it, it made him feel small. 

“Who was the one who got rid of all the cash he had, huh? Who gave a pompous lecture to his elders about paperless business and preached just how impractical cash is, huh? Tell me that!” Stanhope growled.

“But it _is_!” Lewis argued, but he had turned so bitter his voice had grown thin and whining and he hated it. “That’s how money-launderers get caught, with rooms lined with cash they can’t clean.” He knew it was true because he had read about it. He had gone over dozens of famous cases about criminal accountants in order to proof his own practice, and getting overwhelmed with dirty money that turned into damning evidence was the tripping point to most.

“And now look where you are,” Stanhope snapped, obviously uncaring. “Tell me, how’s all the grand planning and your smart little tricks going for you?”

“Dad,” Lewis said, his voice very quiet, “they’ll kill me.”

Stanhope huffed through his nose and waved his hand. “It’s a possibility in this business, if you’re dumb enough.”

“I’m your son,” Lewis said, articulating each word like an over-eager child at a spelling bee. 

Stanhope shrugged it off. “True. But I have other children and grandchildren. The family will survive.”

“No, it will not!” Lewis yelled and sprang up from his seat without even thinking about it. Something was finally boiling over and he couldn’t stand the pretenses, nor could he stand himself just meekly sitting still and taking it. “Have you looked around lately and seen any other of your kids here, huh?! Blanche doesn’t want anything to do with you or the family business, and you can’t force her! Not that she or her kids for that matter knew what to do with it even if they wanted it! And you know just as well as I do that Kathy took the kid, and he’s out there somewhere leading a normal life like he damn well should be! I am all you have! I am your only son, I am your only heir, and there won’t be anyone but me! It’s _me_ who’s always been here, _I_ have always come back and _I_ have made my life here around the family business just like you wanted me to!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” Stanhope snarled back at him and stood up as well, pointing one cruel finger at Lewis like he wanted to poke him in the chest. 

Lewis was riding his anger and desperation too high to care. “I dare alright, especially when you aren’t even going to consider helping me with this one simple thing!”

Stanhope looked at Lewis like he was something lowly and disgusting and spat. “I help those who deserve it, and I would help you if I thought you had earned it! But I have decided that you haven’t, so why don’t you run back home and work things out with that husband of yours!”

Lewis blinked. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad because I married a man, huh?”

“Don’t be absurd, Lewis,” his father scoffed condescendingly like Lewis had said something stupidly arrogant. “Do you think I haven’t seen my fair share of perverse tastes in this line of business? For your information I couldn’t care less if you choose to stick it into another man, even though I’m sure you’d just love to hold that against me and feel tragically misunderstood.”

“I won’t mix him into this. I won’t,” Lewis said quietly, shaking his head slowly from side to side like he wanted to ban the idea in every way he could.

Stanhope looked down at him along the line of his nose, then scoffed. “I see. That’s on you, then. I don’t see what you bought him for if you’re not going to use him.”

“He is not a thing,” Lewis retorted so quietly it was almost a whisper. He was unable to produce a louder sound with so much rage choking him, but he didn’t need to. For once his father was listening to him. “He is not a product, and he is not a purchase. He is a human being, and that’s how I treat him!”

“You know as well as I do that there’s only one good use for people like him,” Stanhope snarled back as if Lewis hadn’t said anything at all.

That was it. Before Stanhope could say one more filthy word, Lewis had spun around and was storming out of the house. He kept going all the way to his car and until he was flying down the road.

Lewis was beyond exhausted when he finally got home. The persistent feeling of being followed kept him on edge, and he could practically feel the stress eating away at him. Even closing the door to his home which usually cut off whatever was bothering him didn’t help. The danger followed him inside, and he felt a pang of guilt when his eyes happened on Dick who was putting away groceries in the kitchen. 

Lewis glanced at the clock. “Isn’t it a bit past your usual shopping hours?” he asked.

Dick turned to flash him a smile from the cupboard. “I’ve been on the phone all morning actually. I meant to go to the store early but look how well that went! I just got back, and I was planning to go and see some friends after I’m done here.”

“That sounds great. Have fun!” Lewis tried to sound cheerful, but Dick knew him all too well to buy it.

He stopped stacking the shelf and turned silent for a moment. “Lewis, are you alright?” he asked for what felt like the thousandth time during the past few months. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Lewis said even though the vague threat about dead dogs floated back into his mind. It was still daylight out, but Dick tended to lose the track of time when he was with his friends and get back late. Lewis knew it was stupid, but he still hated the idea of Dick walking the streets alone after dark. 

“You’re sure?” Dick insisted.

“I’m sure. It’s just that a lot is going on and I’m just feeling it,” Lewis explained, relieved how much easier lying came to him once he got started.

Dick frowned and chewed his lower lip. “I can see that. I just worry about you, you know?” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Lewis said, honestly this time.

“No, don’t be. I’m happy to have someone to worry about. Do you have any idea just how much I treasure you, Lew?” Dick’s voice was soft and serious, and Lewis felt sort of threatened with his devotion. He was suddenly very aware of his wedding band binding them together. 

“I have an idea,” he replied, “and I hope that you know it’s mutual. I swore it, remember?”

Dick regarded him steadily, his blue eyes unblinking and stern like he was trying to stare Lewis’ secrets out of him. When Lewis didn’t budge, he nodded once and turned back to the pantry to stack up boxes of pasta. 

“I know that you love me, Lew,” Dick said lightly, “but remember, I love you more.”

It was a sugary sweet thing to say, but to Lewis it sounded like it had a hidden layer of _I dare you_, like Dick was just craving for a chance to debate Lewis on the subject. Lewis knew better than to bait that fierceness, so he just quirked a tired smile and consciously made the decision to trust him.

Dick could do what he wanted, when he wanted. If he wanted to see some friends, he could. It was an important part of the peaceful home Lewis had promised him, and Lewis was going to bite back his own worries and stress and swallow it all to let his husband be happy.

Swallowing around the chocking feeling of the threats from his customers and the indifference from his father was physically painful, but he did it. Lewis swore to make Dick happy, even if it was the last thing he ever did.


	20. Somewhere in Europe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just loved writing about these two crazy kids running around Europe. 
> 
> Also editing a chapter almost two years old was an... experience.

It was a late, cool summer night in August. Restaurants had closed an hour ago, but the bars and terraces and pubs were bright and noisy with life. People were drinking and dancing in the soft yellow light of lightbulbs and lanterns on strings, enjoying the cool evening after a hot day. Nights around these parts on Europe were getting darker and stars shone again, but this night was still deep blue and full of rich scent of summer. 

Lewis and Dick were wandering about the hotel grounds, distancing themselves from the noise of people and music, slowly strolling down a stone path towards the lake. 

Lewis didn’t usually drink from the local selection, especially since in the Northern Europe people favored vodka and its numerous disgusting spiced variations, but in the heat of the August sun he had been persuaded to try a grapefruit long drink. It had been very mild, but still even when day had cooled into night Lewis felt warmth still buzzing in his veins.

It was very quiet near the lake even with all the people around. When they came to the shore, the grass turned into soft sand, and Lewis felt an urge to toe his shoes off. 

“I almost feel like going for a swim,” he announced as he watched the tempting, peaceful lake.

Dick fell in step with him and shrugged. His alert eyes were scanning their surroundings as much as the dark lake that Lewis was admiring. “You could, I think. I’ve seen people here swimming and no one seems to care when,” he noted.

“Do you think I could go skinny dipping?” Lewis asked with a quirk of a brow.

Dick didn’t even blush, all too used to Lewis’ attempts at teasing him. “The locals don’t seem too square about that either, so maybe. I’ll pick you up from the police station if they do, though.”

Lewis laughed, then teased with a grin: “And what if I wanted you to join me?”

Dick smiled indulgently at him and shook his head. “Absolutely not. Who would watch your back and fight off both the assassins and amorous women if I did that?”

“My hero,” Lewis crooned, swayed closer and took Dick by the arm, “I could kiss you.”

Dick just offered his arm like a true gentleman and walked beside him. “Maybe it would be okay for you to kiss me,” he said, matter-of-factly. 

Lewis felt his playful smirk faltering and he had to look away. Dick was too straightforward to play games with, he just cut right through all the pretenses and went straight for the heart. “That might not be such a good idea,” Lewis muttered, turning his gaze towards the lake and the silhouettes of the evergreen trees on the other shore far, far away. 

“You did kiss me before,” Dick pointed out.

There was no denying that. Lewis remembered it just as well as Dick did, only he had wished they wouldn’t discuss it. He wrapped his arm tighter around Dick’s and leaned against his side, staring out to the mirror smooth lake. A bird of some sort let out a series of short, musical yelping calls. 

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he asked. 

“We are,” Dick agreed.

Lewis leaned his cheek on Dick’s shoulder. He smelled of summer heat and deodorant and himself. “But we will not be friends for long. This is just temporary, remember?”

Silence. Holding on tighter.

Dick’s voice was gentle when he answered, carefully picking his words like touching the subject too harshly would break something. “We both know that, but what does it matter now?” 

“It does matter,” Lewis argued back. He felt silly, fighting this and not being able to look at Dick while still hanging onto his arm. “You’re here because my father hired you to accompany me. Technically I’m your employer, and once you’ve been paid, you’ll just take off and I’ll never see you again unless I write you another check.” 

Dick’s hand came up to touch Lewis’ lightly, just brushing the knuckles gripping him to softly disagree with him. “You know as well as I do that only part of that is true,” he said. “Does it matter how we met or how long we’ll travel together? Does it really matter that we don’t know where either of us will be a year from now? Lew, no one knows that.” 

Dick turned towards him as fully as he could with how tightly they were pressed together from hips to shoulders. Lewis blinked and looked up to him, and Dick tilted his head, a kind smile on his lips, and lifted his hand to brush his knuckles against Lewis’ cheek. “You bought my company with a lollipop, Lew,” Dick reminded him. “I am here with you because I want to, and I am here now. What else matters?”

Something flipped inside Lewis then. It felt like something dislodging, pushed out of place and falling into some new angle that he didn’t recognize, and the feeling in itself was so strange he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. It was something completely new. What it did, however, was push him towards an action before he had a chance to think about it.

“Come on,” Lewis said, let go of Dick’s arm and took his hand instead, starting to lead the way back towards the hotel. 

Their hands were clasped together all the way up the grassy hill and then the hotel lobby, and when they got to the elevator, they stood shoulder to shoulder. Lewis did his best to keep his eyes at the little screen above the doors where a number slowly climbed towards the right one, but couldn’t quite ignore the amused glances Dick was throwing him every now and then. When they got to their floor, Lewis took Dick’s hand again and guided him through the hallways to their room. 

When they got to the right door, Lewis started to fumble for the key card, and Dick finally crossed the distance he had allowed when he was pulled along, crowding against Lewis and wrapping his arms around his middle. Lewis felt himself flushing and standing up straighter, making Dick breathe a laugh into his hair.

“Go on, I’m waiting,” he teased, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of Lewis’ ear.

Lewis squirmed, swiping the card and getting a red light. “You’re making this very difficult, you know?”

“I won’t let you run away from me this time,” Dick answered gently. 

Lewis remembered the last time and their first kiss that was just about as embarrassing as his very first one in high school, given just as drunk and resulting in his courage deflating and running for the hills. “Well, I’m not about to run this time,” he assured Dick and finally got the door open. 

They fell inside, Lewis tossed the key card on the table and turned around in Dick’s arms. Dick peered at him curiously, wetting his lips with a quick dart of his tongue and dropped his jacket on the floor. Lewis stared back at him and followed his example in ditching his jacket, letting it drop just as carelessly on the floor. Dick’s hands came to rest on his hips, first just holding him but then moving upwards to pull his shirt loose. 

Lewis licked his lips in turn, and without breaking their eye contact took a hold of the front of Dick’s shirt and started to pull him towards the bedroom. 

Their staring contest went on like they were having some sort of a conversation with their eyes alone. Lewis felt like Dick was measuring him up, playfully challenging him and inviting him in simultaneously, his eyes promising him everything he dared to ask for. If there was a contest, Dick folded it the moment they stepped into the bedroom of their suite by letting his eyes become hooded and leaning in to kiss Lewis. 

This time there was nothing clumsy about it, it was a perfectly aimed, perfect kiss that Lewis was absolutely ready for. They came to a stop halfway to the bed, too focused on the kiss to move. Their lips slipped together like they kissed all the time, soft and wet and with just the right amount of pressure, and Lewis heard Dick drawing in a deep breath when their mouths met. It was so sweet, kissing, but that sweetness had an edge of hunger to it, a spark that promised to become a flame. 

Lewis draped his arms around Dick’s neck and pulled him against him. Their lips broke apart and met immediately again. Dick tilted his head into a better angle and pushed his hand under Lewis’ shirt.

Their breaths mingled in between kisses, wet puffs against their lips as they led each other into deeper waters, open-mouthed kisses that took one’s breath away and gave way to grazing teeth and curious tongues. Lewis felt a tingling burst of heat in his gut that made him sway on his feet and he tried to focus on Dick’s clothes. 

He was trying to undo the buttons of Dick's shirt, but his hands were shaking too much for it to go smoothly. He got three top ones open, but he fumbled with the fourth as well as with the fifth, and the more his sweaty fingers kept slipping the more embarrassed he got. 

Lewis let out a nervous laugh. ”Uh... This isn't... Give me a minute. I thought this was supposed to be easier when you're sober,” he tried to joke, but the attempted mirth came with all the confidence of an obvious excuse. 

Dick swayed on his feet a bit, hands still clasped behind Lewis’ neck. He breathed a little laugh against the side of Lewis’ neck between kisses. ”It's alright, take your time. Buttons can be tricky like that.”

”Yeah,” Lewis agreed, but still kept fumbling. He was nervous beyond belief and didn't understand why, more nervous than he remembered ever being in the bedroom with anyone, even during his first time. 

He was only halfway through with the buttons when Dick pulled back with a little laugh, sat down on the bed and undid the rest of the buttons himself, pushed his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it over the bed to the floor. 

Lewis could only stand there and stare at Dick in his undershirt, at his freckled skin and lean muscles, and twist his useless clammy hands without knowing what to do. 

Dick looked up to him then, his cheeks flush with colour and smiling. He opened his arms and beckoned Lewis closer. ”There, all gone now. Come here.” 

Lewis took a hesitant step towards him, closer to the edge of the bed, but couldn't shake the feeling that he had messed up somehow and that this was not how it was supposed to go. He licked his lips and tried to shove the nervousness aside. ”Yeah... Yeah, uh... Sorry about... that,” he said, mentally kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

”It's okay,” Dick earnestly assured him, inching closer to the edge of the mattress to meet Lewis, his arms still open. 

”I'm not... I'm not usually like this,” Lewis explained, some distant rational part of himself mortified to realize that he was babbling, ”it's just... I guess I'm a little nervous or something... heh.” 

”Lew. It's okay, just come here,” Dick said.

Lewis took a wobbly step forward and was suddenly seized by an unknown type of shyness that kept him from stepping between Dick's spread knees, and instead he hovered just a tiny bit too far away and stared at his feet. His heart was pounding and a tingling sensation running over his skin, and he was still trembling and suddenly didn't know what to do at all. 

Dick's hands dropped to his knees. ”Are you okay?”

”Yeah, I'm alright,” Lewis quickly assured him. He lifted his gaze to Dick's face and saw the earlier flushed giddiness replaced with concern. He didn't like that all. ”Hey! Hey, none of that, okay? It's fine, I'm fine! It's just... You...”

He gestured between them as if that explained it. His reassuring sounded faint even to his own ears, and as such did nothing to ease the worry on Dick's face. 

”If you want to stop, we can,” Dick said softly, ”I won't pressure you into anything.”

The new turn took Lewis by surprise, and now it was his turn to be baffled. ”What? I know you won't, it's not about you! It's just that I'm trying to give you the Lewis Nixon experience, it's trademarked and highly recommended, you know.” He gave a laugh at his own joke, but as he watched Dick's face he saw nothing even resembling amusement and that made his own laughter die out.

”You're frowning,” Lewis observed, his anxiety growing, ”oh, no, why are you frowning? You should be laughing, I'm being hilarious here, it's part of the experience!” 

”And what if I don't want this trademarked ‘Lewis Nixon experience’?” Dick asked, serious and solemn.

The comment made Lewis even more lost than his trembling hands and interrupted script, and for a moment he was speechless, just staring at Dick and hoping to understand what this all meant. 

”Hell, Lew, I didn't mean that I don't _want_,” Dick specified as he took in Lewis’ helpless confusion. He stood up from the bed again and crossed the remaining space between them into Lewis’ space, carefully slipping his hands around his waist and pulling him to him. He brushed the tip of his nose against Lewis’ cheek.

”I do want, but I want you,” Dick said. ”I don't want a scripted performance, and I don't want the Lewis Nixon the Third you play to others.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Lewis’ cheek. ”I want the real you.” He kissed him again, gently pulling him along as he stepped back towards the bed, and Lewis followed. 

Dick sat down on the mattress and pushed himself towards the middle, bringing Lewis with him. Lewis just blindly followed him, his heart drumming against his sternum as he clumsily crawled over the other man, carefully settling in his lap. Dick craned his neck to kiss Lewis’ cheek, then his jaw, and the side of his neck. His breath was hot and wet against Lew's skin, and the shaking was back now, not only in his hands but his entire body.

”I want to make love to you. To _my_ Lew,” Dick muttered against his neck. 

The giddiness and the flare were both back in full force, and suddenly Lewis didn't even care that he didn't know what to do. His stomach did a flip and he felt like squirming and laughing, and then all of a sudden he was too far away from Dick. They were talking too much and not touching enough, and Lewis couldn't stop himself from melting against Dick, cradling his face in his hands and kissing him with all he had.

Dick accepted the kiss with a deep sigh and went boneless under Lewis, his arms wrapping around him as their kiss deepened, drawing itself out. Lewis pressed himself completely against Dick, molding into his body the best he could and caressed his sides, feeling a rush of new desire at the skin contact. 

Dick arched against him, the kiss finally breaking when he moaned. They pulled back just enough to look at each other, and with just one look at Dick's flushed face and heated eyes Lewis was back on track. 

”We are wearing too many damn clothes,” he remarked playfully. 

Dick was breathing hard and licked his lips. ”Yeah, we are. We should get rid of some.”

Lewis was more than little dazed of Dick under him, but his hands weren’t shaking anymore as he started to undress him. Dick allowed him, simply submitting to being relieved of his clothes and shifting and moving helpfully to make it easier, and together with his keen eyes made it one of the most erotic things Lewis had ever experienced. 

Once Dick was fully naked, for a moment Lewis had to pause and admire him. He was lean and strong just as he had imagined, all hard muscle built with practice, his skin was flushed warmly and dusted with freckles and smooth hair that was the same red as his hair.

For a moment Dick surrendered himself for Lewis’ admiration, and then a quirk of a smirk was the only warning Lewis got before Dick surged up and flipped them over. Lewis gasped as he was thrown over and onto his back as if he weighed nothing, and then Dick was leaning over him with a bright grin on his face. 

“My turn,” Dick said, placed a light kiss on Lewis’ forehead, and started to undo Lewis’ clothes in return. 

Correction to the earlier: This was the most erotic thing in Lewis’ life. He squirmed in both excitement and uncharacteristic shyness as he was stripped, bared to be inspected and judged, and as layer after layer was cast aside Lewis breathed heavier and heavier. He shook and trembled and gasped, but he wasn’t afraid. Dick didn’t scare him, and excitement and desire won over any hesitation easily when Dick’s gentle hands worked on his clothes. Every time he discovered naked skin he sighed and ran his hands across it, and Lewis found he wanted to be bared, he wanted to be seen, and he wanted to be touched. 

“You’re just as beautiful as I imagined,” Dick muttered as he finally had Lewis completely bare. His hand came to rest on Lewis’ waist, and from there it slowly travelled up his side and ribs, on his chest and up to his clavicle. Dick looked and sounded dreamy, his cheeks glowing red and his eyes dark and heated when he caught Lewis’ gaze. “I want you so much,” he confessed. 

Lewis could only swallow and reach out to him, run his hands up his arms and then down his sides, pressing his fingers into the taut flesh. “Come and have me then,” he urged. 

Dick grinned and dived into another kiss, sinking his fingers in Lewis’ hair. Together they tossed the bed, kicking the thick covers aside and laid down on the soft, smooth sheets and plushy pillows, pressing against each other and kissing like they needed it to live. 

It did feel like he needed it too, Lewis even thought so in passing as he felt the desire mounting inside him, itching under his skin and turning him hot and desperate. He loved kissing Dick, he loved tasting him and he loved his fingers in his hair, he loved pulling him to him and over him, and he loved how eagerly Dick responded to him. 

Lewis let his hands roam. He had known how much he liked touching Dick before, but bumping shoulders or patting him on the back or being hauled up the stairs in his grip were nothing compared to touching all of him with nothing in between them. Lewis gripped his shoulders as they kissed, then let his hands skim down his back and feel the muscles and the curve of his spine, he palmed his hip and ass before slipping his hand down his thigh. With curious fingers Lewis reached for the inner thigh, finding impossibly soft skin, and caressed in a way that made Dick gasp and break the kiss. 

For a moment Dick hovered over him, frozen still and gasping as Lewis stroked his fingers up, up and up, gliding them over warm skin while staring up at his beautiful face. When the shock passed and Lewis slid his fingers downwards again, Dick let out a sharp huff and bent over Lewis again, studying his face with a smile.

“Oh yeah?” he said, palms cupping Lewis’ face and fingers stroking his cheeks and jaw.

Lewis slid his fingers up again. “Yeah.” 

Dick smiled wider then, kissed Lewis quickly, and then threw a leg over his thighs and rolled over on top of him and into his lap, pressing against him and spreading his legs for him. “I like it like that too,” he said quietly, rocking down against him, “with you, I’ll do anything and love it.” 

Lewis was left gasping and fumbling for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with Dick so intimately pressed against him. He felt everything like that and couldn’t help bucking up in return, his belly coiling with heat and hands roaming and grasping at thighs and hips. 

“Wait a second,” Dick said and then leaned over Lewis, tipping half off him and reaching for the edge of the bed. His bag was on the floor, Lewis heard the zipper being opened, and then Dick was up again, tossing something on the bed. 

Lewis picked up a plastic bottle that had landed by his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Do you often carry lube around in your line of work?” 

Dick shrugged and smirked. He was tearing open a package of condoms. “No,” he said simply, peering down at Lewis with heavy-lidded eyes, “but I’ve known for a while now what I want with you, and so I planned ahead.”

Lewis bit his lip and flushed under that wanting gaze. “I’m glad one of us did,” he chuckled and popped the lid of the bottle. 

Dick put his hands on Lewis’ chest and leaned down, rocked against him and pressed his face in the crook of Lewis’ neck, lips brushing his cheek and a sigh ticking the sensitive skin. Lewis coated his fingers and reached behind and between his spread thighs, this time with more purpose. 

It was heaven, pure heaven in the way Dick took a shuddering breath, tensed and then relaxed, rocked and surged against Lewis, and how he mouthed at the side of his neck and how his breath came out in wet panting against his ear. It was heaven when Dick moaned for the first time and then couldn’t stop. 

Lewis loved everything about it, he loved the movement and the intimacy, he loved how hot they were and how sweat was starting to coat their bodies. He loved pleasuring Dick, and he decided he would be perfectly happy to stay there and get off like that, fingering him and with their cocks squeezed between their bellies. 

But Dick had still some wits about him, a goal in his mind, and suddenly he sat back up. Lewis opened his eyes that he hadn’t realized he had closed and took in Dick’s deeply blushing face and parted wet lips that twitched into a smile when their eyes met. 

“Come on,” Dick breathed, just a general encouragement that Lewis still understood and made anticipation soar inside him. 

They didn’t talk when they reached for the condoms and lube again, Dick tossing the empty wrapper aside and helping to roll the condom on and sniggering at the way it made Lewis squirm under him. 

Then he was leaning down again, crawling over Lewis again, and – 

Lewis grasped at Dick’s hips and was left gasping, but this time he didn’t allow his eyes to slip shut. He wanted to see everything, and with his eyes wide open he took in how Dick’s body rocked back and down in small, coaxing sways, how he blushed all the way down to his chest and how his mouth dropped open. Dick’s hands fumbled for support, finding Lewis’ chest and the sheet by his head, and he moaned again. 

Moment by moment they both grew more confident and used to the feeling, their bodies finding their new limits and each other, and they fell into a rocking rhythm together. Distantly Lewis heard himself make these low trembling noises that were all but wrung out of him, and when the sharp edge was taken off of the sensation of being joined like this, he was able to plant his feet on the mattress for leverage and really start to thrust. 

Dick moaned and slumped forward, his hand grasping at the headboard of the bed and his head lolling to the side as he surrendered to the motion, and Lewis couldn’t stop staring up at him. His kiss-red mouth was open, pink and wet with beautiful, helpless sounds of pleasure pouring out, all of it entrancing Lewis and leaving his mouth dry. He was making that happen, he was doing that to Dick, and he felt so good and foolishly proud about it. 

“Does this feel good?” Lewis asked, feeling stupid but needing to hear it to be sure. 

“Yes,” Dick answered in a chocked back moan, “yes, so good – oh, Lew – so good…”

It was pure pleasure to be there and be stringed along by the ecstasy. Lewis squirmed and bucked, his hands grasping and palming at everything, his lover’s thighs and hips and sides, finally ending up curling around his hot, hard cock and started to work it over with purpose. 

Dick’s spine curved, his head tipped forward and his deep moans turned into keen humming, like he was being wound up even tighter or tasting something delicious. He pinched his mouth shut then, his smooth rocking started to turn into sharp, demanding jerks and his humming into a whine. 

“Lew,” he managed to breathe out, “close.”

“Yeah,” Lewis replied, thrusting up and up and working his hand quicker, “yeah, go ahead, just do it, I want to see you come.”

It didn’t take long for him to get exactly what he wanted, with them moving like they did and Dick taking it all with his brow furrowed like his pleasure was bordering on pain, like it was burning and he wanted to be burned up. 

And then he seized up, his thighs squeezing Lew’s hips and his body tightening, his head tipping back with a cry that was almost surprised, a sweet, wet sound that turned into gasping as his body trembled with the release. When the wave of ecstasy let him breathe again, Dick slumped down, panting and barely supporting himself by the headboard and the mattress. 

His breath whooshed against the side of Lewis’ face. “Go on,” he urged him, “go on. I want you to finish like this. I know you want it too.” He stressed his words by rocking his hips again, and Lewis didn’t have to be told twice. 

It was impossibly hot under Dick, in the squeeze of his thighs and his willing body and being pressed into the mattress by his weight. It didn’t take long, Lewis was basically grinding at this point, too close to the edge to think or talk, just move and be as close as possible. And Dick took everything he could give while making small whining sounds in the back of his throat, his hands gently caressing Lewis’ chest and shoulders under him, and his lips pressing lazy kisses along Lewis’ neck. 

With Dick’s teeth grazing his jaw and his breath on his ear, Lewis finally reached the edge and all but flung himself over it, hands gripping Dick’s hips and fingers digging into his flesh by the stark line of his hipbone. He came with his face flushed red and hips pushing up and into him and trembling with the release that felt like it was carving him clean and forced a series of almost sobbing moans from his mouth. 

When he slumped back down into the mattress, he felt boneless and bare, exhausted and drunk in a way that no substance could provide. They were quiet save for their panting breaths, and slowly Lewis became aware of Dick’s fingers absently stroking his jaw, of his head resting against his shoulder and his damp hair tickling his ear. 

Lewis turned his head just enough to kiss Dick, lips finding the high point of his cheek, salty with sweat. Dick sighed and turned his head to meet him, his lips searching and finding the corner of his mouth before his lips and brushing against them. 

Carefully Lewis ran his hands from Dick’s hips up his side and back, then nudged his hips to dismount him and helped him off him and onto his side on the bed. Dick let out a deep, content sigh when he lay down, one hand staying on Lewis’ arm and lazily petting him. 

“Just a second,” Lewis muttered, tying the condom and then rolling out of the bed and taking towards the bathroom. He tossed the condom in the bin, then quickly ran water in the sink to wash up a bit. He toweled his chest and belly and his hands, tossed the towel on the floor and went back to bed. 

Dick was laying in the middle of the covers and pillows exactly where he had left him and stretched with a content groan. Lewis flopped down next to him and crawled to his side, feeling an almost painful and sweet clench in his chest. 

Dick was smiling when he rolled onto his side and reached over to him, his fingers skimming down the dip of Lewis’ spine. “All good?” he asked softly.

“All perfect,” Lewis answered, smiling helplessly. He couldn’t resist reaching over to Dick as well, running his knuckles along his collar bone and letting his thumb tap at his freckles. 

“That’s good,” Dick sighed, “come here.” He was craning his neck like he wanted a kiss, and Lewis found himself responding without even thinking about it. 

Their lips were almost too tender to bear kissing, but regardless they exchanged light butterfly kisses that dwindled into brushing their noses and resting their foreheads together. 

“So… Does this mean I need to learn how to sing like Whitney Houston too?” Lewis asked when the silence became too much.

Dick snorted. “Only if you start to enforce a uniform including high-waisted jeans on me,” he shot back, making Lewis chuckle. “I could start carrying you bridal style everywhere if you wanted to, though.” 

Lewis laughed and buried his face into Dick’s chest. “No, no, no need for that. I just wanted to make a reference. It’s a compulsion.”

“It’s okay. I mean, you could have started to sing, and that would have really ruined the moment.”

“I could still do that.”

“Please don’t.” 

For a moment they laughed together and cuddled closer. Dick pulled some of the covers on them when the room started to get chilly, and Lewis made a comfortable nest in his arms. 

“Well. Do I still got it?” Lewis asked. 

Dick raised a brow at him. “Do you really have to ask?”

Lewis shrugged. “You got the real me. I’m just asking how you found the real me. That was kind of uncharted territory for me too.”

Dick leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. The kiss lingered. “I love the real you,” he whispered. 

Lewis swallowed thickly. Dick pushed his hand into Lewis’ hair, combed through it with his fingers and gently massaged his scalp. It was a sweet, caring gesture and Lewis fidgeted under it. 

“Don’t love me,” he whispered. 

Dick kept combing his fingers through his hair, unfazed. “Why not?”

Lewis sighed, unable to stop himself from tilting his head and relaxing into the caress. “We know why,” he muttered. Only the still lingering haze of pleasure and the caress kept him from turning bitter. “We both know you won’t stay. This – whatever this even is – will end when I return to the States.”

Dick hummed, somewhat agreeing yet unbothered. “That’s how it must be. I can’t stay in one place for too long, you know that. And someone like me doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

Lewis had to make a face at that. “Someone like me,” he repeated. “You make a son and heir to a dirty money empire sound like a good thing.”

Dick smiled like he saw the irony in that, but he still stroked Lewis’ hair like he was something precious and pure. “You are a good thing to someone who has killed.” 

Suddenly and just like that, Lewis could see the point. It all dawned on him and suddenly it was clearly written on Dick’s serene gaze and his features softened by how adoringly he looked at Lewis. “I don’t care what you’ve done,” Lewis said.

Dick tilted his head. His hand slipped from Lewis’ hair down his neck to pet his back instead. “You should.” 

Lewis shrugged and dropped his gaze to the sheets. “There are a lot of fucked up things in the world, and I should know better than most. Maybe I just like you as you are, like you are here.” It was all getting too real too fast, and Lewis felt strangely even more exposed now than he had during their lovemaking.

Lovemaking. That was what sex was called when it wasn’t just sex but something deeper and meaningful shared between people who had real feelings for each other. Lovemaking, that was what Lewis had just called it in his own thoughts. He swallowed and pulled the sheets closer towards his chest. 

Dick seemed to sense something about him and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, his hand sliding back up to his hair and then ruffled it. “Who would have guessed you are this sweet under all your attitude and sarcasm?” he chuckled.

“Hey! That’s my carefully crafted personality you are talking about!” Lewis gasped, feigning offence.

“I know that very well, having been acquainted pretty intimately with you,” Dick said back, then leaned over him to kiss his ear and then breathily whispered, “I especially liked the intimate part. I would like more of that.” 

When he pulled back, Dick was smirking half innocently, half suggestively at Lewis while playing with his hair, and Lewis felt himself flushing all over again. He let out a frustrated groan.

“Hnnn I want to go again already,” he whined, rolling onto his back.

Dick laughed, poked him in the side and kissed his shoulder. “We have all night.”


	21. The mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, I'm back already! 
> 
> I don't know what else to say about this chapter except that this has been coming for a long while. Please enjoy~

The time was just barely over eight in the evening, and Lipton was gathering up his things at his desk with a cheerful bounce to his movements. This particular Friday had flown by with a lot of work to be done and so much of it still waiting, but for him the day was over and a free weekend waited for him. 

Buck had a mug of fresh coffee in hand and he sat in his chair with his feet on the desk and watched his partner’s joy. “Excited for the weekend, huh, Lip?” he asked.

Lipton threw him a conspiring smile as he stuffed some papers into a folder and the folder into an overflowing drawer. “Sure am,” he replied. 

“Anything…” Buck started and sipped his coffee, “special in mind?”

Lipton tried to rein in his smile but couldn’t stop himself from skipping just a bit. “In the matter of fact, yes,” he said as if this was the first time his plans came up. It certainly wasn’t, but maybe he just liked talking about them and reveling in anticipation. “Ron’s coming over.”

“Oh, right, you might have mentioned that once or twice,” Buck said with a pretend-serious nod. “That explains why you’re trying to fly out the door. What are you up to?” 

It was getting dangerously close to the kind of hacking guys often participated in, a ritual Lipton had never mastered or willingly participated in, so he shrugged, caught between wanting to take himself aside and for once having something to hack about. “Nothing special, I guess. He’s coming over and he’s going to stay over until Sunday. He was really sorry that he couldn’t make it last week, and he promised he’s going to make it all up to me,” he said, walking the tightrope of compromise. 

A smirk rose to Buck’s face and he wiggled a suggestive eyebrow at Lipton, who pointedly looked away. “Well, well…” Buck said, enjoying Lipton’s mix of excitement and fluster, “make him deliver for real, then.” 

Lipton bit the inside of his cheek and buckled his bag. He didn’t reply, but his eyes were shining. 

“What’s the boyfriend still doing here, huh?” asked Guarnere loudly. He was just wandering in with a cup of coffee in hand and with Toye in tow, both either yawning or stretching after taking two-hour powernaps. 

“I was just leaving!” Lipton said, already throwing his winter coat and scarf on. 

“Good. To be honest I’m wondering what you’re still doing here, I thought you’d be home preparing dinner from scratch and lighting candles or whatever it is you do,” Guarnere said and took Lipton’s chair, dumping his own folders on his desk that had been clean barely a minute ago. 

“I’m about to!” Lipton said and made room for Toye, who was carrying a pile of surveillance DVDs and notebooks. “But I’m in no hurry, Ron’s working too and he doesn’t get off before nine,” he explained, swung his bag over his shoulder and started towards the elevator lobby.

“Aw, so nice of you to get to the good stuff right away!” Guarnere quipped and cracked up at his own joke.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Lipton called after him, hurrying out of the hearing range as soon as he could, disappearing into the flow of people checking out. 

Toye, Buck and Guarnere laughed at his expense for a good while, but eyed at the pile of work before them. It was nice to linger at the joke and the private affairs of their friend for a little while longer, but they couldn’t stall forever.

Toye, forever the dutiful one, was the one who broke the comfortable silence that had fallen after chuckling: “So, we’ve got enough material to get us through the night.”

“Ugh, right,” Guarnere said and picked up the closest DVD case with a piece of tape on it. “Twelve hours of surveillance of an empty building,” he said after reading the notes on the tape. “This should be fun.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ll be filling our overtime quotas no problem,” Buck sighed. 

“And hopefully getting some results too,” Toye added, “I can’t deal with this if we don’t get any new leads or evidence we can use.” 

“I’ve elected to not even consider that,” Buck said. “I’ve booked one of the conference rooms, but other than that it’s the computer for each one and fast forward all night long.” 

“Is the cyber unit helping at least?” Guarnere asked.

Buck shook his head. “Only if we actually get something and need a digital analysis. They are otherwise tied up.”

“Like Lip’s gonna be very soon, I recon,” Guarnere noted and laughed. 

Toye combed his fingers through his short hair. “You know, that’s not as helpful in pulling an all-nighter as you think it is.”

“Shut it, I’m hilarious,” Guarnere replied with a sharp nudge to Toye’s side. 

“Shut it, both of you, grab a disk, get some coffee and get to work,” Buck said and picked up the DVD closest to him. 

Losing sight of Bormann and his underlings had been a grave development to their case. It was a downright disaster, they all recognized as much, and the very worst scenario was that they’d end up with more bodies and no arrests. It was the kind of disaster that would be torn apart by the press and make several very powerful people look very bad, and without any results to show certain detectives might find themselves hung out to dry. 

Not that anyone of them would shed many tears over Nixon should he get killed, but that wasn’t a desirable outcome. Buck doubted Toye and Guarnere felt as strongly about arresting and charging Nixon as he did since the Nixon case wasn’t the disgrace of the Homicide Department, but they all understood that they wanted an arrest, not a body. 

But with Bormann in the wind and Nixon still quietly standing his ground, they were back in a situation where they could only blindly search. Luckily they had managed to follow Bormann long enough to have somewhere to start, and what they had was a collection of surveillance footage from locations he had frequented; the hotel, some restaurants and clubs, and a few properties around Chicago that were either about to demolished or for sale. 

They were hoping they’d pick up his trail again or find someone who was somehow connected, and so Buck spent his Friday night keeping track of hotel guests in the lobby and the restaurant Bormann and his numerous associates had favored before disappearing underground. 

When listed the properties were an interesting thing. It had occurred to them before, but the list definitely pointed to the direction that Bormann’s mob was clearly seeking to set a place up in Chicago. If they needed another reason to solve this case, that was it.

As Buck went through hours upon hours of footage from the hotel, his thoughts began to wander. He had debriefed the surveillance team himself, and what bothered him about it the most was that no one on the team couldn’t say when they had been made. Buck knew every officer on the team and didn’t think they’d lie to save their own skin, and he couldn’t tell what had gone wrong any better than they did.

The uncomfortable thought grew during the hours, and when they took their first break just after eleven and went to the breakroom to make more coffee, he brought it up with Toye and Guarnere.

“I think we have a leak,” he said grimly. 

Toye and Guarnere were quiet and exchanged a look. 

“Yeah, we’ve been sort of suspecting that too,” Toye replied. 

Buck nodded and the discomfort in him grew. If all of them had been thinking the same, they were likely to be right. “That’s the only way I can think of how Bormann got wiser about us. He’s got a source that told him about our surveillance team and told him how to lose them.” 

Toye sucked in air through his teeth. “Sounds logical. But I hate to think who it is and how our info leaks.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too. Someone’s probably been bought, we all know that happens and with our salary it’s no wonder either,” Buck said. 

“Do you think Nixon’s the one who’s bought someone?” Toye asked.

Buck considered it but then shook his head. “If he had, Bormann wouldn’t have sent those goons to his home and Nixon wouldn’t be so stirred up about it. No, Bormann has his own piece in the game, I’m sure of it.” 

“Yeah, uh, I hate to be the one to state the obvious, but what if our killer-for-pay doubles as a mole?” Guarnere said. He was standing by the vending machine and ordering himself a bag of chips. “Remember all the research Lip did into our guy? He did that hit on those San Francisco cops when they got too close. It’s clearly a part of the murder menu he offers.” 

They were all silent for a moment. The machine whirred and a bag of chips fell from the shelf. Guarnere crouched to fish it out of the machine and popped it open right away. 

Buck didn’t like how well the theory fit. “I hate that the bastard is still so many steps ahead of us.” 

“You don’t say,” Toye grunted. “We better keep our eyes open or he’ll shoot us in the back eventually.” 

They got back to work after that, and slow, dark hours slinked past. There were always personnel on the station, but the night hours were definitely quieter. The pale light of the computer screen wasn’t exactly enough to keep anyone alert and awake, but they did their best. 

There was hours upon hours of footage, and after Buck dared to declare the hotel a dead-end, he moved on to the traffic cameras. At first it kept him alert when he kept track of cars and plates, but soon the numbers blurred in his mind. 

Buck called another break for the whole team three in the morning. They were all tired, and no one had had any luck with the footage. It seemed that Bormann had abandoned all his usual stops when he disappeared, and going through the clubs and restaurants and hotels was useless. 

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re not having any luck with these,” Buck sighed. 

Guarnere rubbed his darkening stubble and begrudgingly nodded. “Yeah, there’s no way they weren’t expecting to be followed. There’s no trace of them anywhere.” 

“I think we could all use some sleep,” Buck continued, “we should go get some rest for a couple of hours and then continue trying.”

“We might have more luck with the less public spaces,” Toye suggested, “after all, we were primarily interested in the locations they frequented the most or stayed at. If our report has leaked, those are the spots they know to avoid.” 

Buck snapped his fingers. “Excellent point, Joe. But first, sleep.”

There were small rooms with camp beds in the Homicide Department due to the stretching hours the department was known for, and they took residence there. Buck was used to going home at regular office hours, but he was way too caught up in the case to mind staying at the station. He had a creeping feeling that they were getting close even though they couldn’t see the whole picture yet. 

The alarm on his phone went off five in the morning, and Buck barely remembered it was Saturday. He woke up Toye and Guarnere from their bunks, and all three of them headed back to the breakroom for coffee in groggy silence. 

There was little luck with the less public places and Toye’s suggestion. Guarnere sat opposite of Buck at Lipton’s desk and stared at what Buck knew were four screens of traffic footage around a bankrupt restaurant downtown, and judging by his expression there was nothing interesting there. 

Buck blew through multiple locations; a parking lot, a closed off nightclub, a barber shop that was almost certainly a money laundering front, and just to be sure the car rental place where they had gotten their first and only picture of the hitman. 

Half past eight they took a breakfast break. The shift had just changed at the station and for an hour or so it had buzzed with the night shift completing their paperwork and the morning shift coming in, but once it had settled down, they had the breakroom practically for themselves. 

Fresh coffee was welcome, and toast and instant oatmeal wasn’t too bad either, and they sat around the round table to eat and try to wake up.

Toye seemed thoughtful. “I might have something,” he casually mentioned. 

Both Buck and Guarnere perked up at that. Guarnere threw his hands in the air. 

“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier! We’ve only been at this all night!” he exclaimed. 

Toye gave a shrug and looked unbothered. “It might be nothing. It’s just, I’ve seen the same guy twice. At least, I think it’s the same guy, I can’t be sure, the picture is kind of grainy and he’s not that close to the camera.”

“Alright. What more?” Buck pressed, trying not to get too hopeful.

Toye had an uncertain frown on his face, but he did carry on: “It’s one of those buildings on the east side that Bormann has visited and apparently expressed interest in. I’ve spotted the same guy there twice. He walks there, then a car picks him up, he’s gone for a while, and then arrives back there. The cars are different on both times, but I’m pretty sure the guy is the same.”

“When were these instances?” Buck asked.

“A month ago and two weeks ago. I’m still going through the footage to see if he’s there again. It’s always after dark, so that narrows it down pretty well,” Toye said.

Guarnere looked reserved but was just as willing to grasp at any straw they found: “That could be something, yeah, but how can we make sure it’s the same guy?”

“We should sent the footage for the cyber unit. They have good programs to get his measurements from video footage,” Buck said.

“I’ll shoot Babe a message,” Guarnere said, pulled out his phone and started to shovel the rest of his breakfast into his mouth at new speed. 

“I’ll go through the rest of the footage and send anything new to their way,” Toye said, picked up his coffee and the remaining half of his sandwich and left altogether. 

The few hours of sleep had cleared Buck’s head but the feeling of getting closer was still there and only growing more powerful. He didn’t exactly believe in an instinct in his line of work, but sometimes he did experience a strong pull of a certain lead and often that turned out to be worth a look. 

He knew it was getting ahead of themselves, but he dug up the footage they had of their hitman already and forwarded it to the cyber unit for reference. Now that they actually had something to work on, returning to staring at the endless feed of homeless people and the occasional passersby at random locations felt useless, so Buck didn’t go back to his desk but followed Guarnere to the Homicide Department.

It had been a while since he’d been there, and so it was the first time he saw the board set up for their hitman by Guarnere and Toye’s desks. 

Toye was skipping through footage on his computer, but Guarnere was just sitting at his desk, anxiously rocking in his chair. 

“Pretty handsome workload we’ve got here,” Buck commented when he stole someone’s chair and took a seat next to Guarnere, his eyes on the board. It was a gruesome board to look at with almost half of it being just pictures of murder victims with their faces covered with post-it notes. The other half was maps and printed out articles documenting his known locations, crime scenes and the weapons he had used, and in the middle of it all was the black-and-white screencap from the car rental place. A man in a leather jacket and a hoodie and who knew how to avoid looking into a camera. 

Guarnere also had his eyes on the board. “Yep. God, I hope this is something. I mean… I know it could be anyone, it could be a drug dealer or an escort or whatever, but…” he paused and stared daggers at the picture on the board, his hands squeezing into fists. “I just got this feeling, ya know? This might be _it_.” 

The morning felt endless and slow with waiting. Pale sun rose to paint a crisp winter day with stark blue sky and frost on the ground, and the minutes ticked away. By nine even Toye couldn’t be bothered to focus, he just cut an hour or so of footage and emailed it straight to Luz, then leaned back in his chair and stretched until his back popped. 

Twenty past nine George Luz tried to run through the glass door. His hand slammed against the glass and he halted before the rest of him could follow, but he quickly fought the door open and zoomed like an electric bunny by the desks and chairs of the floor. 

Everyone had turned towards the noise and Guarnere and Toye had opened their mouths in unison to mock Luz, but when they saw his frantic and pale face, their grins faded. Buck stood up without planning to. 

Luz was panting and pale, having clearly run the whole way from his station to them, and in his hand he had a paper with something printed in black and white. 

“Someone call Lip right this second!” Luz wheezed out as soon as he was close enough, “Now! Just someone give me a damn phone and call Lip now, don’t ask, just gimme – “ 

“Luz, calm down!” Buck said and tried to grab him by the shoulders, but Luz shook him off. 

“No! There’s no time! I’ve already alerted a unit and I don’t want them to deal with a goddamn hostage situation, so give me a goddamn phone that has battery in it _and call Lip, Jesus fucking Christ_!” He was waving his arms and made grabby hands towards Toye, who was already digging for his phone in his pockets. 

“George, what’s wrong?” Buck asked, forcing himself to keep calm even though his system was firing adrenaline and his heart was pounding in alarm. 

“Just give me a fucking phone,” Luz despaired and shoved the paper he had in his hand to Buck, crumbling it slightly against his chest. 

Buck took the paper and started to smooth it over and shared a worried look with Guarnere, who had a grim frown on his face and circled the desk to take a look with Buck.

Luz snatched the phone from Toye and dialed Lipton. He wiped and anxious hand over his sweaty face that was scrunched into an expression of deep despair, and for the first time Buck looked closely enough to see wayward tears in his eyes.

“Come on, Lip, pick up… pick up…” Luz muttered and wiped his eyes while forcing himself to take calming breaths, “pick up… pick up, please, please pick up…!” 

Buck couldn’t bear to look at that anymore and not know, and he was about to ask Luz again, but Guarnere had reached his side and was looking at the paper he had been smoothing out without really taking a look.

“Motherfucker in hell,” Guarnere breathed out next to him, and Buck jumped. He turned and saw cold rage slowly rising on Guarnere’s face while he stared down at the picture, and so Buck looked down at it as well, afraid of what he was going to see. 

It was a grainy screencap of security footage zoomed in as much as the resolution allowed, but after clean up it was a clear picture of a man in casual clothes and a baseball cap with his head tilted back like he was looking at something in the sky. It took Buck only a second to realize that he knew the man. 

“Lip! Thank God!” Luz exclaimed next to them, “No, shh, listen to me very carefully and don’t ask anything! You’re in danger, but we have a unit on their way already, just tell me this, can you get away from there unnoticed or is Speirs still there with you?!”


	22. Homme Fatal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh how long I have waited for this part! I really love this chapter, working on this was so much fun. This is one of those times when you write a whole story to get to that one good part. I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it.
> 
> And by the way, show hands, who picked up on what was the mistake Speirs made in the earlier chapters?

Lipton couldn’t leave work fast enough. He had looked forward to Friday all week with growing anticipation and not even the teasing from his coworkers could touch him when he was gathering his things, ready to leave.

“Aw, so nice of you to get to the good stuff right away!” Guarnere yelled the last dirty joke after him when he was leaving.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Lipton called easily over his shoulder with a grin and kept rushing towards the lobby. 

He didn’t really have anything planned besides cooking, and he hoped it wasn’t presumptuous of him to think that it was all that was needed. They could figure out what they wanted to do on Saturday together in the morning, and Lipton wasn’t too worried about it. He only hoped Speirs would agree with him about what they’d do tonight, which was eat and then go to bed. 

Lipton was so deep in wistful thoughts that he barely remembered his commute home. He had spent the previous evening cleaning even though Speirs had already seen his apartment in its natural condition, and now he could just change his work clothes into more casual ones and go straight to the kitchen.

He took off his duty belt and dropped it on the kitchen counter, planning to put it along with his gun away safely later. He changed into another pair of jeans that didn’t have coffee stains in them and swapped his button down into an ordinary long-sleeved shirt. His work attire wasn’t that different from his casual clothes since he didn’t wear a uniform on day to day basis, but there was something cleansing about changing at home, like separating his detective self from his everyday life. Here at home, he was just him and whatever was going on at work couldn’t touch him, that was the simple feeling of a clean shirt. 

He didn’t have anything too special planned for dinner. Speirs would be coming so late it wasn’t really the time for a big meal, so he opted out for grilled sandwiches. They were something Smokey had mentioned he had chatted about with the nurses attending to him at the hospital as two of them had their roots in the French-speaking world, and a couple recipe ideas had stuck with Lipton. 

He got plain white toast and took out the fillings from his fridge. He had cherry tomatoes, red onions and goat cheese, he had fried chicken he had marinated and spiced the night before, he had eggs, cheddar cheese and green onions, and he had smoked ham, bell peppers and lime. 

When he was cutting and slicing up the ingredients, the calm lull of the repetitive motions of preparing food brought his thoughts back to Speirs. He smiled to himself and wondered about the tender tug inside his chest and thought about how silly it was to be so ridiculously happy about just making food for someone, about how much he cared, and if it was too early to call that fondness by a stronger name.

He was just about to put a pan on the stove when the doorbell rang and his heart jumped into his throat. He rushed to the door and didn’t even check who it was before opening it, finding exactly whom he thought in the hallway.

“Hi, Ron,” he greeted.

Speirs took a second to take in his smile, then strode inside throwing the door shut behind him, pressed Lipton against the nearest wall and closed him in an embrace. Lipton went easily, leaned his head against Speirs’ and held him. Speirs was grasping the back of his shirt and had his face pressed into his shoulder, breathing in deep like he hadn’t been able to in a while. 

“Hi, Carwood,” Speirs spoke into his shoulder.

“I was just about to turn the stove on and cook us something to eat,” Lipton said. 

Speirs lifted his head up enough to put his chin over Lipton’s shoulder. “Sounds wonderful.”

“I was making grilled sandwiches,” Lipton said, “would that be okay or would you like me to make something more sturdy?” 

“I’ll have anything you give me. Sandwiches sound perfect,” Speirs said right away and turned enough to press a lingering kiss to Lipton’s cheek. “It’s you that I really want anyway.”

The kiss with the heated promise left Lipton glowing. He ran his hand through Speirs’ hair. “Come to the kitchen then. The faster I get to cook, the faster we get to the other stuff.” 

It shouldn’t have been so exciting to linger in the kitchen and cook, but Lipton couldn’t say he had ever had a man stay pressed up against his back with his arms around his middle and press kisses to his neck while he grilled sandwiches. Speirs was idly affectionate, warm and gentle but also bold in the way he brushed his lips along Lipton’s neck and toyed with the hem of his shirt. His hands wandered on his body, feeling him up all the way to his chest, then slipping down to grasp him by the hips for a quick thrill before turning the hold into a hug again and subtly slipping a hand under his shirt.

Lipton couldn’t help smiling when Speirs occasionally made him squirm and he felt him huff a little laugh against his neck. “You’re in a good mood,” he commented and flipped a sandwich on the pan.

“I am now,” Speirs said. “I’ve missed you.”

“We see each other every day,” Lipton said, leaning back into the embrace. He took the ready sandwiches from the pan, put them aside on a plate and put new ones on the pan, all the while with Speirs watching him work over his shoulder.

“I know,” Speirs sighed and held him tighter, “but it’s not enough, just seeing you.”

Lipton smiled to himself. “Uh-huh,” he hummed. 

Speirs pressed a kiss onto his nape and slipped his hand under Lipton’s shirt, his warm palm pressing against his belly. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting for this since you invited me. Today’s been murder, trying to focus when I knew I’d get you all for myself tonight.”

He was speaking softly against his skin, his voice strained by yearning and his wandering hands promising everything, and Lipton breathed in deep, knowing that Speirs was close enough to feel his ribcage expanding. He turned his head enough to search for Speirs’s face with his lips without looking away from the pan and the spatula, brushing a kiss against Speirs’ temple. “Oh yeah? What you’ve been thinking about?”

Speirs revered under the smallest bit of attention and pressed even closer. “Oh, everything. Simply, everything. I’ve been thinking about everything I want to give and how good I’ll be to you, and how we’ll have the whole weekend for it. I want to know you in every way.”

The last sandwich was done and Lipton turned the stove off, then turned around in Speirs’ arms to face him. Being face to face was suddenly a lot, and he cupped Speirs by his jaw to ground himself. Speirs looked like he wanted a kiss, but Lipton dodged him. 

Speirs’ green eyes were suddenly fixed on him when he was denied and his look was sharp, but Lipton only smiled and stroked his cheek. “I want to be yours tonight,” he confessed. 

Speirs’ eyes were suddenly scalding and he looked hungry enough to pass the food to get his teeth on something else. “I’ll have you,” he promised, “then I can die happy.” 

“No, don’t die. I want to keep you,” Lipton said, almost cooed, then leaned in to finally kiss him. 

For a while they stayed like that, pressed against the stove and kissing, but Lipton wouldn’t let the food go cold. He took the sandwich plate and led Speirs to the table where they sat down and got their legs tangled up. Lipton didn’t remember when he had last set the table for two and picked out serviettes, and it was a part of his victory run when Speirs was clearly impressed with the food and helped himself to seconds. 

There wasn’t a question about what they would do afterwards, but Lipton enjoyed seeing Speirs mooning over him and acting so affectionate, so he prolonged the dance by clearing the table and doing the dishes. He took two beers out of the fridge, and Speirs accepted his with thanks and took a dish towel on his own accord to help.

Even washing dishes was wonderful. It was almost half past ten and they were standing side by side at the sink, sipping beers and doing the dishes like they did it all the time. 

“Thank you for the food,” Speirs said as he accepted a soapy plate to rinse. “You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks,” Lipton answered, secretly very proud of himself. “My mother taught me. I made a lot of friends in college just by being able to cook a decent meal. It turns out there’s only so much take-out you can stand.”

Speirs laughed and leaned against his side. “I second that. You learn to appreciate good food when you’re living off k-rations and at the base the best thing you can get is pizza. Do you enjoy cooking for others?”

“Yeah,” Lipton hummed, scrubbing melted cheese off a spatula. “Eating together has always been a way to bond in my family. It’s a comforting ritual, I feel.”

“That’s fitting. You bring comfort to everyone and make a home wherever you go,” Speirs said.

Lipton smiled and couldn’t help but notice that he handed over the last dish to be rinsed and dried. He pulled the plug from the sink and watched the soapy water drain, then waited for Speirs to be done with the frying pan so that he could wash the leftover bubbles off his hands. 

Speirs leaned his back on the counter when he dried the pan with exaggerated care, and there was fire in his eyes again when he watched Lipton, who looked back at him with a smile on his lips.

“You know what I want to do after this?” Speirs casually asked.

Lipton rolled his sleeves down and shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue,” he said, his smile widening. 

Speirs raised a brow at him and kept wiping the pan in his hands even though it was already dry. “I think I’m ready for bed.” 

Lipton could hardly contain his smile or hide the flush that was quickly rising to his cheeks with the warmth that was kindling in his belly. He took the last swig out of his beer that was mostly just foam and set the empty bottle aside to be forgotten. “Tired already, huh?”

Speirs didn’t reply, just set the frying pan aside with the rest of the clean dishes, then hung the towel on its place to dry. “Not in the slightest,” he said. 

Lipton bit his lip to keep himself from openly grinning, and then Speirs took him by the wrist and pulled him against his chest, where he went with a gasp. 

The kiss was welcome and came naturally. Lipton put his arms around Speirs’ neck and let it happen. He couldn’t begin to describe how happy he was, swaying in his kitchen with the smell of lemon-scented dish soap lingering in the air and kissing a man he just might have loved. 

Speirs pulled him along and led the way to the bedroom. It was only the second time they made that particular journey but it felt safe and familiar already, and Lipton almost wanted to linger in it to fully enjoy Speirs in his home, in every room and doing ordinary things in it with him. 

Almost. Because when Speirs kissed him with intention and took him by the hips for real this time, that slow, glowing warmth that had nested in his gut all evening was finally roaring into a glorious burst of desire that licked his bones and ran across his skin, and suddenly he was too hot to bear any clothes on him at all. Knowing that Speirs had been dreaming about this all day burned in the back of his mind and made his stomach knot in anticipation, thinking about all the wonderful things he would be in for. 

The bed was tossed in no time, and Lipton didn’t pay any mind to where any particular article of clothing landed as long as he was free from their suffocating weight and had more of Speirs’ skin to touch. He closed his eyes and kissed him, crawled over him and kissed and licked his way down his body. He smelled intoxicating and tasted even better.

But Speirs wouldn’t stay on his back for long. He had too many things on his mind, and Lipton laughed when he was handled into a new position of Speirs’ liking and then silenced with a kiss. 

Speirs was generous with pleasure, overwhelmingly so. Their lovemaking came in waves, taking them up to new heights and the peak, then down again to calmer, gentler things. It was like being taken by an ocean of pleasure, and Lipton found himself riding the waves over and over again with his lover’s hands on his hips, keeping him steady in the storm.

He didn’t bother to look at the clock when it finally felt like they couldn’t go for another round. Time felt meaningless in the warm bed together with Speirs, who was lying right next to him, cooling off but one hand idly caressing his back like he couldn’t bare to completely part with him. 

Lipton basked in the bone-deep satisfaction and hummed gently every now and then. Speirs had just discovered that he liked his back scratched, and was lightly raking his nails up and down his spine. 

Lipton nuzzled the side of his face into the pillow he was hugging. “I’m never moving again,” he declared with a grin.

Speirs smiled, showing a hint of teeth. His voice was deep with affection. “You won’t have to. You look so lovely that I’ll just keep you right here.”

“Okay now I’m for real too tired,” Lipton groaned, flopping his legs that currently felt like jello for emphasis.

Speirs just chuckled quietly and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead, fingers momentarily sinking into his hair. “Don’t worry, I’ve loved you enough for one night.” He kissed him again, his nails raking down and scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll take you again tomorrow.”

“So many promises,” Lipton muttered into his pillow. He was tired and ready to drift off, but Speirs didn’t seem to be about to. He stayed with his chin on his palm and kept scratching his back, his gaze soft and quietly adoring.

“Go to sleep,” he urged, probably seeing Lipton’s sleepiness plain and clear on his face, “I’ll watch over you for a while longer.”

“Mmm I’ll make you breakfast in the morning then,” Lipton promised and let his eyes slump shut. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep and he slept soundly to the morning. It was warm and perfect in his bed with Speirs in it, and when he slowly came to again, he felt so comfortable he didn’t want to move. It took Lipton a moment to realize what had roused him from his sleep, but then the twinkle of sunlight registered as did the sound of water running from his bathroom. 

He was alone in the bed but so surrounded by Speirs’ scent in the sheets that it didn’t upset him. Lipton felt well-rested, a feeling that still eluded him so often he decided to properly enjoy it now, and pleasantly sore like after a good workout. The sheets were cool in the spot where Speirs no longer was, and Lipton rolled over there with a deep inhale and stretched. He listened to the sound of running water and settled in his own body that had been loved to the point of bruises and simply smiled towards the ceiling.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was quarter to nine, not too late but not too early either, and without any particular hurry Lipton started to plan breakfast.

They had both slept naked so the first thing Lipton did when he got out of bed was to pick out some clean clothes. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be leaving the apartment, so he dressed in his usual gym clothes and wandered to the kitchen barefoot. 

The first thing he noticed was that he had completely forgotten about his duty belt that was still on the kitchen counter with his gun on it in its holster. Lipton felt a sting of guilt about forgetting about gun safety, something he never usually did, and made a stern mental note to himself to lock it up immediately after breakfast. 

The breakfast wasn’t going to be anything too special, but it was still something he wanted to prepare. He picked out toast, eggs, strips of ham, the rest of the cherry tomatoes and a half of a honeydew, took out the frying pan and started on coffee. 

It was a quarter past nine when Speirs finally emerged from the bathroom wearing his own jeans, no shirt and toweling his wet hair. He wandered into the kitchen and straight into Lipton’s arms, kissing him lightly as a greeting. 

“I smelled coffee,” Speirs said, then glanced over the counter. “And breakfast.”

“I did promise, didn’t I?” Lipton answered and brushed his knuckles against Speirs’ morning stubble. “If you want to shave, you can use my razor.”

Speirs felt his own chin and wrinkled his nose for a second. “Yeah, thanks. You mind if I borrow your shirt too?”

“Go ahead,” Lipton agreed, cracking eggs to the pan. “But hurry up, breakfast is almost done.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Speirs said, kissed him again and then went back to the bedroom. 

Behind the window it was a crisp winter morning. Lipton took a moment to appreciate the pale, clear sky and the sun that no longer warmed but was nevertheless beautiful. He picked out plates and mugs for them both and set the table, took out the sugar bowl and milk for the coffee, and then went to flip the eggs on the pan. 

He took the pan off the stove but left the eggs and the ham in it for a moment longer so they wouldn’t get cold and cut the honeydew into slices. He left it on the cutting board and took the whole thing to the table, setting it slightly to the side but within the reach from both sides. The eggs and the ham would need a serving plate, and Lipton was just debating should he use a pie dish or stack them on a dinner plate, when he heard his phone ringing.

He hadn’t even thought of his phone in almost twelve hours now and couldn’t remember where he had put it. The ring tone was coming from the living-room, most likely from the pocket of his jacket, and the thought of having to leave the warm kitchen and allow some stranger to invade his home right now caused a spike of annoyance in him. Lipton glanced at the clock and wondered who would even call him half past nine on Saturday morning and considered just letting it ring until whoever it was gave up. 

That was what he was going to do, but the phone kept ringing for a long time, and when Lipton was certain it had been a minute he felt less annoyed and started to wonder if someone had important business with him. He was a detective around the clock even when he was off duty after all, and his team had worked overnight, so the chances of it being work-related were rather high. Lipton sighed and went to look for the phone.

When he passed the living-room he heard the tap running every now and then in the bathroom, signaling that Speirs was still there shaving. An idea of wanting to take care of the interruption before Speirs came out for breakfast struck him, and so Lipton hurried his steps to answer his persistently ringing phone.

He did find it in the breast pocket of his jacket where he had apparently left it last night after coming home, and picked it up. The caller ID read ‘Luz’, supporting the theory about a work-related call.

Lipton went to the kitchen and took the mugs to make coffee while tapping the green receiver on the phone screen and lifting it to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Lip! Thank God!” Luz exclaimed on the other end, and immediately his tone put Lipton on edge. 

He put the coffee pot back down and frowned, taking a better hold of the phone. “Luz, what’s wr- “

Luz cut him off before he had the time to ask. “No, shh, listen to me very carefully and don’t ask anything! You’re in danger, but we have a unit on their way already, just tell me this, can you get away from there unnoticed or is Speirs still there with you?!”

That was a strange thing to ask, and a part of Lipton put two and two together on the cue, but a much bigger part of him refused to realize it even when he felt a lump rising in his throat. “We’re both here,” he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse. _He said you, he meant the both of us together_, he tried to convince himself even when a sensible voice trying to scream at him from the back of his mind already knew that Luz had meant what he had said.

Lipton both knew and didn’t want to understand. For a moment he felt his world freezing in place just like it had before, like when the gunshot had seemed to ring forever and shards of glass hanged frozen in the air, everything perfectly clear and still and Lipton in the middle of it, knowing what would happen in the next second and helpless to stop any of it. 

Not yet, he thought wildly. He wanted just a second longer of the scent of fresh coffee and safety and love in the winter morning, just a fraction longer before the glass shards would cut his flesh and make him bleed. But he already knew there was very little mercy in the world, and none for him. 

“Speirs is the hitman and we think you’re his target, we have seen him, we have the evidence, I’m so sorry Lip, but we’re on our way and if you just can, you must leave the apartment now,” Luz went on, his shaky voice gaining confidence when he got to the instructions, “just drop whatever you are doing and walk out. Don’t run, just walk out of the door and down to the street, you’ll be safe in the crowd and the first unit should be there any minute now. Don’t think anything, just move yourself to safety right now, it’s going to be alright – “ 

Lipton wasn’t listening anymore. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and it refused to comprehend anything. He rejected any and all information that had just been given to him, but even though his brain could do that, his body refused, his heart hammering and pumping cold fear into his system and spreading a buzzing feeling into every limb, preparing him to dash like a hare that had spotted a fox.

But he couldn’t move. It was quiet in the apartment, no sound of running water to be heard. 

Lipton stood with his feet frozen to the floor but lifted his gaze to the kitchen door, and his eyes locked with Speirs’. He didn’t know what sort of an expression he was wearing, but it must have revealed everything. There was no lie he could come up quickly enough to cover what had just happened as he stood there with his phone on his ear, no longer hearing what Luz was telling him as he stared at Speirs. 

“Oh,” was all that Speirs said as he looked back at Lipton. 

Lipton couldn’t say anything, he just stared back and slowly let the hand holding the phone slip down. Something happened to Speirs then, and with growing terror Lipton watched as the person he thought he knew slipped off him like a mask, leaving behind a stranger. 

Lipton felt his paralyzed legs starting to shake and heard the rush of blood in his ears as his heart tried to pound out of his chest. Without meaning to, his gaze flicked to his belt on the kitchen counter before him, his gun in its holster barely two feet away from him.

His gaze flicked back up to Speirs, who had also eyed the gun between them on the counter. Speirs was a bit further away from it than he was, and when their gazes locked again, Speirs tilted his head a little bit.

“Don’t,” he said in a cold voice Lipton didn’t recognize. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lipton felt his insides withering at the threat and something cold tightening in his throat, and in a desperate burst of panic he lunged over the counter towards his gun. 

Speirs moved in a blur. Lipton didn’t even see him, but he certainly felt him when he collided with him. Speirs struck him in his shoulder and chest and sent him flying back away from the gun before he could even reach for it. 

Lipton knew how to fight hand-to-hand and he considered himself rather good, but only a few seconds grabbling with Speirs made it strikingly clear to him that not only was he slower than him, but also weaker and not as skilled. He didn’t even know what was happening before it already had, when Speirs slapped his fumbling hands aside, kicked his feet from underneath him and took a hold of him, throwing him heavily on the ground like he weighed nothing. 

“Don’t fight,” Speirs said close to his ear as he pressed Lipton to the floor. “I won’t hurt you. Just stay still.” 

Speirs dragged him until his back hit the cupboard below the sink. His hands were forced together and up, and Lipton was too dazed and terrified to do anything about it, and then something was wrapped around his wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” Speirs muttered as he tied him up, “I didn’t mean it to come out like this.”

Lipton blinked at him and yanked his hands, slowly realizing he’d been tied with the dish towel onto the handle of the cupboard. He yanked again, panic taking hold when he realized he couldn’t get free and was forced to sit there, completely helpless with a killer and a gun in the room. He opened his mouth and out came a wail of terror and agony, and he yanked his hands hard enough to rattle the door on its hinges.

Speirs was on him in a flash, once again moving faster and in a strange manner that didn’t fit the person Lipton knew at all, steadying him with force.

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Speirs muttered to him and stroked his cheek in a sick gesture of comfort. “Shhh. Your people are on the way, you’ll be fine in a moment.” 

All the fight left Lipton at the mention of outsiders. He wasn’t going to die here even though at the moment it felt like it, but would have to go and bear the full burden of his mistake. 

Speirs let go of him and stepped back. Lipton noticed he was still wearing his shirt. His eyes were hard and cold, and he wore a hateful frown. 

“I have to go now. I’m sorry,” Speirs said. He reached over Lipton to flick the coffeemaker off, then turned and bolted out of the kitchen, took his bag, grabbed his shoes and jacket and then climbed out through the fire escape, and just like that he was gone. 

It felt like an eternity when Lipton sat there, the blood flow slowly ceasing from his hands and the adrenaline draining from his system, making room for pain. The left side of his hip and his knee were aching from taking the fall, and he hadn’t even noticed that he had burned his hand on the stove when he had lunged for the gun, but the burn was starting to throb and steadily got worse. 

When the police arrived, they didn’t bother knocking but broke down the door immediately. Lipton sat where he had been put and watched two patrols take his apartments and clear the rooms, kicking open doors with their guns searching for a killer already long gone.

He didn’t remember who came to him or untied him. Lipton didn’t remember much details about anything, just that someone let him go and walked him to his own living-room where he was sat on the couch, and then Toye and Luz were there, sitting on both sides of him.

Neither one tried to talk to him, for which Lipton was grateful. He felt like he would never talk to anyone again, and even though he hated anyone in his apartment right then and didn’t want any of his friends there with him either, if he had to pick out of his current options, Toye and Luz were the ones he would tolerate.

More and more people kept arriving, his broken down front door as good as nothing in keeping anyone out. Barely anything registered to Lipton, but even through his numb haze he was forced to see the sheer amount of people, his colleagues no less, who invaded his space. Three patrols arrived at various times, as did his team of detectives soon after. Then came a team from forensics and yellow tape was put on his door, not that it did anything to block a group of curious neighbors that had started to crowd in the hallway.

Lipton felt so horribly exposed he couldn’t suddenly move or breathe. Speirs was all over his apartment, as was everything they had done.

Oh God, what had he _done_. 

It was agony but Lipton forced himself to look around his home, and what he saw was a crime scene. He knew what would be done now as he had walked in other people’s homes himself and gone through their papers, drawers, files, computers and diaries. He knew the crew would immortalize everything with a camera and the film would go through the entire department. He knew everything would be tossed and turned and dusted for prints, and everyone would see everything.

There was a chocking feeling in his throat, and he felt scalding hot shame trickling all over him. He thought about his unmade bed and what he had in his laundry basket, he thought about the breakfast for two going cold in the kitchen and felt so stupid he wanted to curl up on the couch and disappear.

He had invited a killer into his home and now his every trace of him would be collected. Thinking about it made Lipton feel like he might have as well sat there naked so that the forensics crew could handle him with their latex-clad hands and dust him for prints too. He felt filthy, dazed and stupid but also just numb enough that he didn’t crumble when he thought what would be gathered up from his bedroom and bagged into air-tight plastic bags like something diseased and dangerous; he thought of dirty underwear, the bedsheets, the bottle of lube in the drawer of his nightstand and the used condoms in the trash.

Shame burned, and he wanted to cry but couldn’t. He could already imagine himself giving a statement or worse yet, testifying in court, wearing his best suit and explaining the details of his sex life with a serial killer to an audience of his colleagues and superiors and the representatives from the district attorneys’ department. Suddenly Lipton was glad he hadn’t gotten to eat the breakfast because if he had, he would have surely thrown it up.

He was pulled out of the vortex of his thoughts when someone approach the couch.

“Um, sorry to bother you, but…” Buck started as he stood in front of the couch. He wasn’t emotionally well equipped for situation like this, but his professional distance was something that allowed Lipton to look up and meet his gaze. Buck looked tired and angry in a contained manner and he stood with his hands on his hips, a frown on his face. “…Strayer is here,” he finished.

Next to Lipton Luz jumped, the comforting energy he had been radiating suddenly disturbed when he sat on the edge. “What?! Didn’t we tell him he shouldn’t?!”

“We did,” Buck sighed and gave Lipton an apologetic grimace of a smile, “but it seems that he wants to ‘do the respectful thing’ and come here himself.” 

Lipton felt a dull pang in his chest as he stared up at Buck like he could save him. His superior officer was the last person he wanted to see and he couldn’t begin to imagine what Strayer wanted. To tell him personally how disappointed he was in him? That he had personally compromised the whole investigation and made everyone’s hard work and sacrifices meaningless? 

“We did tell him that whatever happens we’ll take care of it ourselves, but apparently he couldn’t take the hint,” Toye said. He seemed undisturbed even if grim, and in that moment Lipton was immensely grateful for him and how steady he was beside him. Toye was resting one arm on the backrest of the couch while the man himself was as unwavering as a mountain, and even when he was delivering more bad news Lipton wanted nothing more than to lean against him and forget about everything. 

“Do you think you can handle this, Lip?” Toye asked. “We’ll stay here if you want us, but just say the word and we’ll give you space.”

“No… No, you can stay,” Lipton forced out past the horror of the mere thought of being abandoned now.

Toye gave him a solid look. “Are you sure?”

Lipton nodded, and Toye nodded back.

Buck let out an angry huff at the situation, turned on his heel and strode to receive their unwanted guest. He came back in a moment with another shorter man with him, and as much as Lipton wouldn’t have cared to, he recognized Commander Strayer immediately.

The Commander looked awkward to say the least. “Detective Lipton,” he started way too forcefully like trying to strongarm the situation to be less awkward. 

“Sir,” Lipton acknowledged without meeting his eyes. 

Strayer cleared his throat. “I’ve only just been briefed about the events here. Let me say that I’m most sorry for what has taken place here. It must be difficult for you. Our department will be doing everything in its power to bring the perpetrator to justice.”

Lipton nodded mutely. To him it sounded like they were going to dig through his personal belongings harder and humiliate him further, but rationally he knew it meant well. 

Strayer cleared his throat again and shuffled his feet. It was obvious he had more to say, but Lipton couldn’t have cared less about meaningless platitudes from his superior when he hadn’t wanted to see him in the first place.

“However, here’s the thing, detective,” Strayer continued, still hammering the raw atmosphere with his tone, “the thing is, it seems that we have located the leak in the investigation, that leak being you. And given how your life is also actively targeted, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest that you’ll be taken off the case and given some time to recover.”

It was such a roundabout way to say it that it took Lipton’s rattled brain a moment to decipher what Strayer had just said. 

“Am I fired, sir?” he asked. 

“No!” Strayer said immediately, but shuffled his feet again. “You’re suspended, for the time being. As your Commander who put you on this case in the first place I felt that I owed it to you to tell this to you personally. I’m sorry, detective.”

Lipton was distantly aware of Toye and Luz bristling by his side and Buck looked just about ready to start arguing the decision right then and there, but Lipton didn’t have the will or the energy for anything like that. If anything, he was relieved; he wanted everyone out of his apartment, he didn’t want to see or be seen by anyone, and since he had only compromised the investigation, suspension was everything he needed and deserved then.

“Very well, sir,” he sighed before anyone else had the chance to say or do anything. “Can I give my batch and gun to you now? I’d rather not come to the station to fill out the paperwork.”

All three of his friends stared at him with wide yes and at loss of words. It was only then that Lipton noticed that Guarnere was nowhere to be seen, but then concluded that he probably wouldn’t have been able to hold himself as quietly and steadily together as the rest. It had also been Guarnere who had last teased Lipton about his date, fully believing in the charade, and Lipton wondered how embarrassed he must have been about all those jokes. He felt unbearably responsible for all the embarrassment and distress this whole endeavour was causing his friends, and was suddenly relieved he didn’t have to look Guarnere in the eye anytime soon.

“I’ll send the paperwork over,” Strayer promised. “We’ll also assign you a guard at the corner in case he wants to come back to finish the job. I think it would be wise if you laid low for a while.”

“Will do, sir,” Lipton agreed. 

After that it was still three long hours with the forensics crew gathering evidence and samples from his home, and Lipton sat unmoving on the couch through it all. He didn’t want to be with anyone or talk, so all attempts at conversation fell flat soon. He was distantly grateful for Toye and Luz sitting just where they were through it with him, but it didn’t occur to him to say anything about it. 

After those excruciating hours Lipton had to convince his friends that he really needed some peace and quiet, and after managing to get everyone out he was finally alone. 

Only he didn’t know what to do with his peace and quiet either. He knew he should have cleaned the kitchen but couldn’t bring himself to. He tried to make the bed but was unprepared for the piercing pain of seeing his sheets and the pillowcase Speirs had used taken, and overwhelmed by the feeling Lipton wandered back to the living-room and sat on the couch.

His apartment still smelled faintly of Speirs. Soon that too would be gone, and so Lipton bolted the fire escape shut, came back to the couch and fell into dreamless sleep.


End file.
